


Living in a Lightless World

by Darksidekelz



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Post Series/No Predacons Rising AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-04-01 11:05:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 65,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13996947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksidekelz/pseuds/Darksidekelz
Summary: Two years after the fall of Megatron, Soundwave is released from the Shadowzone by Optimus Prime, of all mechs.  Now, Soundwave must learn to live in a post-war world, where enemies have become allies, allies have become refugees, and the pillar he'd built his life upon is long gone.





	1. Bound Again

The scenario was a familiar one.  A hard, unyielding table beneath him, the sickening sound of Autobot voices drifting in the surrounding space, powerful restraints around his wrists, his chest – cables deactivated, as well as his audio transmitters.  Soundwave was helpless, again at the Autobots’ mercy, but this time, he didn’t care.

The war was over; that much he knew.  Memories of the Shadowzone, of its icy touch and hollow air still bit at him, a handprint buried in his spark.  He didn’t know how he’d escaped – consciousness had been taken from him long ago, as starvation slowly disabled himself and Laserbeak.

Laserbeak!

The small bird’s presence still hummed through the bond, albeit with the distant echo of stasis coloring its pulse.  He was alive and unharmed, but not awake. That was fine. No harm was likely to come to him now. As far as Soundwave knew, the both of them were in Autobot custody, and with how much time had surely passed since the Autobots’ fateful triumph over Lord Megatron, there was no real reason for either of them to be here.

Which meant the Autobots were likely the ones who had pulled Soundwave from the Shadowzone, not from necessity, but from their own guilty consciences.  All the better for Soundwave. Repentant Autobots were less likely to hurt Laserbeak, and so long as Laserbeak was safe, nothing else mattered. He’d already lost everything else that he’d cared for.

Slowly, groggily, he onlined his optical sensors, wary of what he would find waiting for him.

“I see you’re awake.”  Ratchet was looming over his prone form, carrying a data pad and frowning.  Without thinking, Soundwave turned his head to the side, eager to put that hated visage from his mind.  If only he could do the same for the voice.

“I don’t suppose there would be any point in asking how you feel?”  He gave the briefest of pauses, an invitation to reply, before pressing on.  “No, I figured not.” With a shake of his head, he set the data pad on a side table, and moved away, under the pretense of fiddling with some machine just out of Soundwave’s line of sight.  What he was actually doing was a mystery, however; the machine gave no hum, no buzz, no sign that it was even on. Perhaps it was nothing at all.

After another awkward pause, Ratchet seemed to find his words again.  When he spoke, however, it was to the wall. “You must have many questions,” he said slowly, as though each word caused him great pain.  He didn’t want to be here, and truth be told, Soundwave didn’t want him here – not that that particular fact mattered.

“Megatron was defeated; the war is over – it’s been that way for about two years now.  Cybertron is rebuilding under the care of Optimus. It was he who insisted that we retrieve you, just so you know.  Were it up to me, you would still be rotting in the Shadowzone.”

Optimus had?  It wasn’t a surprising admission, and yet, Soundwave couldn’t help but wince.  He owed his, and Laserbeak’s, lives to the last mech in the galaxy whom he wanted to be indebted to.  Wonderful.

“I have no love for Decepticons, least of all one so fanatical as you.  It doesn’t matter that the war is over – the atrocities you committed . . .”  He trailed off, biting down on his true feelings. The pulsating of his spark had picked up speed, however – a loud, furious roar to Soundwave’s sensitive audials.  There was no hiding of sentiments for Ratchet, no matter how many words went unsaid. 

He chimed in again, this time forcing his tone to remain calm and flat, despite the war waging within his frame.  “Ordinarily, I would not leave a patient in your condition alone so soon after waking up, but you are stabilized to the best of my ability; I think you’ll forgive me if I take my leave of you.”  He began moving to the door, but of all the questions he’d answered, he’d missed the only one Soundwave cared to hear. Between Ratchet’s attitude and his explanations, Soundwave’s earlier assumptions had been turned on their head.  If the Autobots were not feeling guilty, then Laserbeak’s welfare was no longer a concern that could be ignored.

Soundwave wouldn’t speak, and he couldn’t play back a relevant audio clip.  All he could do was struggle, and hope that his strange behavior would trigger a response from Ratchet.

Indeed, Ratchet hesitated, staring down Soundwave with a derisive look in his eye.  “What more could you need right now?” he muttered, more to himself than for Soundwave’s benefit.  If only Soundwave was capable of providing the answer himself. After taking another moment to check Soundwave’s vitals, Ratchet again began his departure, and that was when the tantrum began.

In his current state, there was nothing Soundwave could do to really cause any damage, but that didn’t stop him from trying.  He thrashed his head back and forth, arched his back, clawed at the table, released a steady stream of static from his broken vocalizer.  The action may have been a bit exaggerated, but Soundwave had no reason to care for appearances. He wanted Laserbeak. He needed to know – what had become of him, if he was alright, or alone and broken in a cage somewhere, his life pitted against Soundwave’s good behavior.  And Ratchet’s indifference wasn’t helping.

The old medic narrowed his eyes at the display, winced at the sharp shriek of Soundwave’s plating, scraping against his bindings; his sparkrate increased – a response to the stress of the situation.  But still, he would not say the words Soundwave needed to hear. He simply didn’t know Soundwave well enough to understand, and likely didn’t want to. So instead of racing off to retrieve Soundwave’s beloved Symbiont, he instead approached the medical terminal, hit a few switches, and backed away.

Immediately, the thrashing stopped, as Soundwave’s body grew heavy, too much so to continue such desperate movements.  The world was growing muffled and dim around him, and he found it difficult to maintain consciousness. The bastard medic had induced stasis!

Weakly, Soundwave let his head flop to the side, let his optical sensors deactivate, let his frame still.  He did not, however, indulge himself and go offline; how could he when Laserbeak’s fate was unknown? Instead, he remained quiet and still, and waited – waited for Ratchet to leave the room, grumbling about Decepticons and Optimus’s stupid ideas all the way, waited as the fuzzy sounds of activity on-base faded, making way for the oppressive silence of the night cycle, waited, as his senses began to clear, and his typical alertness returned to him.

No matter how hard he strained his audials, he could not hear Laserbeak.  He did hear the sound of Ratchet, recharging in one of the rooms down the hall, the crackle of the base’s signal jammer, the roar of flimsy human tech trying its hardest to work with Cybertronian programs.  It was all in line with the memories of his brief stay in this very same base during the war. He remembered clearly, how quickly the Autobots’ self-professed morality had slid away, how they mocked his confinement, how his holiness, Optimus Prime himself, had threatened torture, and how Soundwave had gotten the last laugh when he wiped his drives, when Laserbeak came in to save him hours later.

Megatron had been so proud . . .

_ “You’ve done well, Soundwave.  Excellent work, as always.” _

The specter of Megatron smiled down at him, his optics filled with a gentleness reserved for Soundwave alone.  The ghost of brutal claws, of hands that had slain so many, stroked a fond line down the side of Soundwave’s face, and scarred lips planted soft kisses along his crest.  Soundwave leaned into the caress.

Megatron was dead, and with him, the tattered remains of the Decepticon cause, but foolish though it was, Soundwave could not, would not let him go.  It had been Megatron’s memory, that had kept him alive in the Shadowzone, it would be Megatron’s memory that sustained him now. 

_ “I always said, if any of us could survive the war, it would be you,” _ that familiar voice crooned, clear as day.   _ “And it seems I was right.”   _ He laughed, and Soundwave’s spark yearned to reach out, to touch, to return the affectionate gestures of his fallen leader.  As though sensing this, Megatron, cruel as ever, stepped away, still smiling that fond smile of his.  _ “It would be a shame to give up after coming so far.  Live, Soundwave. And thrive. After all you’ve lost, you can still win in this way. _ ”  Again, he stepped away, cruelly backing himself into oblivion, even as Soundwave reached out for him, a broken whine escaping his vocalizer.

_ Stay.  Please, stay. _

But it was not to be.  Even as Megatron faded, a new sensation came to replace him, every bit as familiar, if not more so, bubbling up within Soundwave’s spark, beloved, near.

Laserbeak.

Soundwave reactivated his optical sensors to find that indeed, Laserbeak was here, sleeping in a cage on a table, only a few feet away.  Though Laserbeak’s presence was always welcome, the sight invoked a visceral reaction in Soundwave. He began thrashing again, struggling to reach out to his trapped Symbiont.  He remembered all too well what had happened to the last Symbiont he’d allowed the Autobots to cage.

“Soundwave, it would seem you have awakened.”  The warm, commanding voice of Optimus Prime was enough to give Soundwave pause.  With his body still as inclined towards Laserbeak as he could manage, he allowed his face to drift towards the Prime, bitterness overflowing from his spark.  Already, he was preparing to pull the plug on himself, on his memories, to do whatever he needed in order to prevent his precious companion from becoming yet one more victim.

_ “Live, Soundwave.  And thrive. The war is over.” _

“I apologize for the unfortunate nature of your waking,” said Optimus, though the unnatural sound of his Matrix-infected spark made the honesty of his words difficult to gauge.  Knowing Optimus, it was probably the truth. Soundwave cocked his head, but did not relax. He was not yet ready to dismiss the threat in the situation.

“Laserbeak is safe.  He, much like yourself, was suffering from a severe energon deficiency when we found him.  He is in stasis now.” He paused, taking in Soundwave’s still tense demeanor, before adding, “Despite the cage, he is not our prisoner.  We were uncertain as to what sort of reaction to expect from him once he woke; it is merely a precaution, much like your own bonds.” He moved closer and pressed a button on the side of the terminal at Soundwave’s head.  At once, the bonds keeping Soundwave restrained retracted, and the cloying deafness that had jammed his audio transmitters lifted as well. The move was bold, or at least it seemed so initially.

With his new-found freedom, Soundwave’s first instinct was to lunge for Laserbeak, but his frame just wasn’t up for it.  Instead, he managed a half-sparked wiggle, before giving up and deploying a data cable to reach out, squeezing through the flimsy metal bars of the cage to touch Laserbeak.  He was warm, alive, safe. It was only then, once that knowledge was secured, that Soundwave was able to relax. His frame fell slack, enough so that even Optimus saw it; though his spark pulsed an unfamiliar rhythm, the fondness that shone in his perpetually-sad optics was unmistakable as it was sickening.  What reason did Optimus have to exhibit such emotions for an enemy? Ratchet’s reaction to his presence had made sense, but Optimus’s was simply baffling.

He seemed to catch himself quickly enough.  The strange expression faded as soon as it had come.  “You must be confused. How much did Ratchet tell you?  I can fill in any holes, if you’d like.”

Soundwave hesitated.  Conversing with Optimus had never been a favored pastime of his, even before the war began in earnest.  He wasn’t exactly keen on doing it now.

But memory told him that the thrice-damned leader of the Autobots was stubborn if nothing else, and likely wouldn’t leave until he got what he’d come for.  Once more, the kill-switch was looking a desirable solution, but with Laserbeak in such a vulnerable position, and the Decepticons nothing more than a half-forgotten nightmare, there was no reason to maintain his silence.  So he fired up his newly-rebooted audio transmitters and sought out the relevant voice clip.

[[ Megatron was defeated; the war is over – it’s been that way for about two years now.  Cybertron is rebuilding under the care of Optimus. ]] Soundwave repeated, noticing the frown on Optimus’s thin lips deepen.

“I see,” he said.  It was all he said.  The unpleasant aft rather seemed to be waiting for Soundwave to ask him for elaboration – like that would happen.

For several awkward minutes, the pair remained in silence, but once it became clear that Soundwave had nothing to say, instead of doing the polite thing and taking his leave, Optimus pulled an oversized stool up to Soundwave’s bedside, and took a seat.  The eerie, high-frequency hum of the Matrix in Optimus’s chest was piercing from this distance; Soundwave cringed, hoping against hope that Optimus would take the hint and leave.

He didn’t.

Instead, at long last, he spoke, slowly and deliberately as ever.

“They think you should be executed, for crimes against the species.”

Soundwave rolled his head to meet Optimus’s optics.  He couldn’t make out any distinct emotion within them, beyond general sadness.  What else was new? He turned away once again.

“I disagree with that sentiment.”  Clearly. The Prime always had been soft; it was what Soundwave hated most about him . . . well, one of the many things he hated most, at least.  “The war is over, Megatron is dead, and though you were loyal to the Decepticon cause, I do not think it likely that you will make any trouble.”

Soundwave wanted to cause trouble, if only for that statement alone.  But he was weak; prolonged lack of use had left his body stiff and unyielding.  He couldn’t even roll over to get closer to Laserbeak; reinstating the war was a bit beyond him for the moment.

“Our people suffered great losses over the last millennia of war.  It is not my belief that we need to inflict any more, least of all for our ideological differences.  The Decepticons were responsible for many crimes, this is true, but I will not pretend that the Autobots’ hands are clean either.  I would prefer that we keep executions to a minimum, least of all for those who are unlikely to pose a future threat . . .” he trailed off, leaving Soundwave to wonder just who the future threats were.  He didn’t have to imagine for long.

“Starscream and Shockwave escaped.  Their whereabouts are currently unknown, but it is not beyond the realm of possibility that they will return with . . . nefarious motives.”

Why was Optimus telling him this?  With Megatron dead, Starscream and Shockwave would have been promoted to co-leaders of the Decepticons, and with no sign of a formal surrender, the war was technically ongoing.  The unlikely pair had the authority; they could regroup, gather the remaining supporters of the cause, keep the fire burning.

It was a laughable thought.  Starscream was a joke – a pathetic shell of his former self.  No Decepticon with two wits about him would follow the orders of their wayward second, not without Megatron’s direct authority.  And as for Shockwave? Captain charisma was best suited to sequestering himself away in a dark and musty lab, bringing to life whatever deranged project Megatron found himself fancying at the moment.  Decepticon high command may still have been alive and well, but there was no doubt in Soundwave’s mind that the cause had died with their one lord and master.

“From what little I know of you, it is my assumption that you would have no intention of joining them, should it come to that.”  Soundwave hated how well the Prime had read him. “However, the other leaders of our transitional government are not so convinced.”

Somehow, Soundwave couldn’t bring himself to care.  For two years, he’d been out of the game. True, he’d been slowly starving to death in a parallel dimension wherein he couldn’t interact with anyone or anything, but there was a sort of tranquility to the place that he wouldn’t have minded right about now.  Waking up to be thrown back into the miserable world of politics had been the last thing on his wish-list. He let a soft crackle emit from his vocalizer, the closest he’d get to showing his disapproval in his current state.

Optimus’s expression softened, belying that strange and inappropriate fondness from earlier.  Soundwave wasn’t sure he wanted to understand it. “I apologize. You must be tired. I will not hold you much longer, I just wanted to make certain you were aware of what lies in store for you, if you do not object.

“You are a very influential figure amongst the Decepticons – the closest they have to a figurehead which they can rally behind.” 

Soundwave gave a half-sparked shake of his head.  Optimus knew nothing; Soundwave had no voice, no words; he was nothing but the creepy ‘big brother’ of the Decepticons – the threat that kept everyone else in line.  There would be no rallying behind him, no matter how close he’d been to Megatron.

“It’s true, regardless of what you think.  I’ve heard the whispers of those who would return to the way things were.  You are not so inconsequential as you may think.” Was it true? What did it matter?  Soundwave could sense where this conversation was heading, and he wanted no part in it.

Optimus continued on, heedless as ever of Soundwave’s wishes.  “If a mech as influential as yourself were to take a seat in the transition council, it may assuage the fears of many former Decepticons, and ease Cybertron into an age of peace once more.”

Whether from pity or exasperation with Soundwave’s silence, Optimus rose to his feet, and began backing away.  “I am fighting to get you involved in this new government. I do not want to push you into it, however. You have a choice, though I am afraid it is not a very good one.”

Soundwave stiffened.  It wasn’t hard to see where this was going.

“I have enough influence to keep execution off the table, but the other council members insist that, if you do not take this offer, you must be jailed.”  He shook his head with a sad sigh, before turning on his heel, his heavy steps echoing like an avalanche as he made his way to the door. Before he took his complete exit, however, he paused in the doorway, to look back at Soundwave’s unmoving form.

“You do not have to choose now, but please do not delay for too long.  I must return to Cybertron, but in the meantime, I will have Ratchet here to look after you.  Please take care, Soundwave. I will return as soon as I can.” And with that said, he left. The distant sound of a space bridge firing up was Soundwave’s confirmation that Optimus was gone.

What was there to make of all of this?  Soundwave had no intention of becoming a politician, but the thought of imprisonment left him feeling cold.  He’d spent the last two years in a prison of sorts – now that he was back in the land of the living, he had no desire to squander his life, and Laserbeak’s to boot.  If he went to prison, what would happen to Laserbeak?

He cast a mournful glance at his sleeping Symbiont, unmoving in the cage beside him.  Laserbeak deserved a future, even if Soundwave didn’t.

_ “Live Soundwave.  Live and thrive.” _

Megatron’s voice echoed in his head, though Soundwave couldn’t make sense of the words.  Whichever option he chose, he wouldn’t be thriving. What was a mech to do?

He gave a deep sigh, and let his frame fall lax.  There was still time to choose; he needn’t decide overnight.  In the meantime, he would focus on recovery, on getting his frame back on its feet, on getting his audio transmitters reactivated, on becoming a real mech once again.  Maybe then, he could find a purpose.

In the meantime, he would sleep.

 


	2. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave has made his choice, but he's not ready to admit it.

Not much changed in the two weeks following Optimus’s visit.  Soundwave was still a prisoner in all but name. He was still fragile, making a slow recovery from the hell his body had been put through in the Shadowzone.  Ratchet was still his spiteful, unwilling caretaker. And Laserbeak was still asleep, a fact which only served to hinder Soundwave’s progress on the path to wellness.

“I assure you, this is perfectly normal behavior for a Minicon.”  Oh, so it wasn’t ‘drone’ anymore, was it? “Laserbeak’s frame is not quite so hardy as a full-sized Cybertronian’s, and his internal mechanisms are a bit trickier to work with.”  That was code for ‘I have no idea how to fix your bird, nor do I care to learn how.’ “I’ve done everything I can for him for the moment.” The guilty hum in Ratchet’s spark implied that this wasn’t entirely true.  “His internal repairs will take care of the rest, but it’s a process that will take time.”

Had it been Knock Out shirking his duties in such a way, Soundwave wouldn’t have stood for it.  All it would have taken was a little intimidation, a reminder of the chain of command, the difference in physical power between the two, and that self-serving medic would have had Laserbeak up and about within the hour.  But this wasn’t Knock Out. Soundwave had no authority over the Autobots’ former commanding medical officer. Pit, there was such enmity between the two, it was a miracle that he and Laserbeak were even alive. 

There wasn’t much he could do for it at the moment; any rebellious action on his part would only serve to put him and Laserbeak in danger; he was too isolated to do anything more than wait.  Wait, and observe, that was. It was what he did best.

The base reeked of Autobot – and no wonder, it had served as their Earth-based base for years.  But Ratchet aside, there weren’t any Autobots to be seen now, or Cybertronians, for that matter.  The humans had taken root since his last visit, and, as humans were wont to do, had multiplied. The three Autobot pets that had caused his downfall were nowhere to be seen, which was probably for the best.  He wasn’t keen on facing down his would-be murderers, least of all as a prisoner. In their place, were a few dozen important-looking men in what Soundwave knew to be military attire. 

They’d speak amongst themselves, of course – of their human politics, their human wars, and of the alien tech that would give them the edge they needed over their enemies.  Soundwave didn’t care about any of this, but he filed it away nonetheless; conversations like that could prove important, and he’d already long-since learned not to underestimate the squishies.

Soundwave took some small consolation in knowing that the Autobots were disrupting the political balance of their favorite alien planet, more so with every shipment of weaponry, of technology, and fuel, brought in through the space bridge ever few days.  It would only be a matter of time before the generosity of the Autobots came back to bite them in the afts. After all, if he knew anything about humans, it was that they could not be trusted. He eagerly looked forward to that day.

In the meantime, however, there were more pressing matters to earn his curiosity.  The space bridge, for instance.

Clearly, it existed, and as best Soundwave could tell, it was operating at full capacity.  He heard the hum of its mechanisms, springing to life, the empty howl of transdimensional space.  He could see Iacon’s coordinates locked in on the monitor, and jacking in to the terminal granted him access to the internal data of the machine.  But that was it.

He couldn’t interface with it – not remotely, and not with a physical connection.  True, he could have activated the thing manually – even a human could manage that. But he didn’t dare pull such a stunt.  Escaping to some Autobot tower in Iacon would only see him captured once again, and in more trouble than ever. And try as he might, he couldn’t coax a change in coordinates.

The machinery was working perfectly, which meant the problem was with him.  Ratchet had done something to him while he was unconscious, and that something was interfering with his ability to – well – do the things he was built to do.  It was a grating realization, and worse, one that Ratchet didn’t care to hide.

“So, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been trying to access the space bridge,” he said one day, in the midst of a physical therapy session.  He was standing at Soundwave’s side; one quick motion would be enough to put an end to his horrid existence, and yet he spoke so boldly, so nonchalantly, that Soundwave couldn’t bring himself to strike.   _ Aft. _

“I take it that your attempt ended in failure?”  He spoke as if he didn’t already know the answer.   _ Double aft. _

Soundwave didn’t bother dignifying the observation with a response, and Ratchet didn’t bother waiting for more than the barest of moments.

“I know that Optimus may have told you otherwise,” he said, even as his attention remained fixed on the task at hand, in this case, working to get some bend in Soundwave’s leg, “but you  _ are _ a prisoner here.  For whatever reason, he trusts you, but I think we both know that trust is misplaced, and I will not have you disappearing to the far-off reaches of the galaxy, finding rogue Decepticon forces, and restarting the war.”

As if he cared enough to do such a thing.  Megatron was dead; the war was over. But he could understand Ratchet’s fears.  He didn’t like the idea of a former enemy rooting around inside his head, but what could he do?  He was, after all, a prisoner. At least that was one thing he and Ratchet agreed upon.

Ratchet could have left it at that; Soundwave was mollified, there was no reason to press on.  But it seemed that the medic was in a talkative mood today. His hands on Soundwave’s leg stilled, unconsciously, as he stared off into space, lost in a thought, or a memory.

“This is . . .” he said slowly, his fingers clenching amongst the sensitive wiring of Soundwave’s knee.  It hurt, but Soundwave provided no reaction. He deserved worse than this, even if it was clearly unintentional.  And indeed, the moment passed, and Ratchet came to his senses, releasing his hold and leaping back, as though he’d been slapped.  Only sheer stubborn loathing kept the apology from his lips.

“This is so wrong,” he snapped, burying his face in a hand, deft fingers rubbing circles into his temples.  “You shouldn’t be here, and  _ I _ shouldn’t be helping you.  You’re – you’re every bit as bad as the rest of them.”  He peered past his fingers, cyan optics alight with hatred.

“Fanatical.  That’s what you are: a fanatic.  And Optimus seems to think that any of that has changed – I don’t understand it!  I’ll  _ never _ understand his willingness to look past the crimes of . . .  _ certain  _ Decepticons.  To look past the things you’ve done to our allies, our friends . . .” he trailed off, hesitating before at last adding, “and to  _ me _ .”  He was staring straight into Soundwave’s empty face now, a challenge in his eyes.  Who’d have thought the soft Autobot medic could show such fire?

Soundwave, of course, wasn’t entirely sure what Ratchet was on about.  It had been a long war, and he could think of one or two occasions in which their paths had crossed, at least in an intimate way, but there was nothing about them that should have warranted such a grudge, at least in Soundwave’s opinion.  He wasn’t Starscream, he wasn’t Airachnid, he didn’t take pleasure in the kill, didn’t relish in it. He wasn’t one for torture, or lewd experiments. Rather, his encounters with Autobots, whether Ratchet or any other, were always methodical, quick – get what he needed, and get out.  No playing around, no time wasted. 

Yes, he had attacked Ratchet a few times, had abducted him at least once, but from the way Ratchet was behaving, he’d have thought he’d done something worse.  Then again, it wasn’t difficult to imagine just how terrifying the prospect of being hunted down by himself could be. He wasn’t exactly ignorant of his reputation amongst his own allies, let alone the Autobots.  

_ Curious. _

In part, his actions were a test to his hypothesis, in part they were a petty attempt at vengeance.  Either way, the sound Ratchet made as Soundwave deployed his cables and began to advance was well worth whatever punishment loomed in his future.  The Autobot was afraid of him, the dull glimmer of past traumas shone in his optics as he scurried backwards, reaching for a blaster that was no longer there, fully aware of how very vulnerable he’d allowed himself to be.

Soundwave didn’t hold position for long.  His point had been made. He retracted his cables, a bit more slowly than was natural, and stared Ratchet in the eye, waiting to for his response.

“W-well,” he coughed, as the nature of Soundwave’s prank began to dawn on him.  With hesitant steps, he returned to Soundwave’s bedside, and began helping him off the medical slab, hands trembling all the while.  Perhaps Soundwave had gone a bit far? On the other hand, he hadn’t been thrilled with Ratchet’s verbal abuse, regardless of how well-deserved it may have been.

With Soundwave back on his feet, Ratchet was quick to put some distance between the two.  

“I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but it is not appreciated.  You need to leave – go to your room. I can’t do this right now.”

There was no point in arguing.  He was probably lucky, that it was all Ratchet asked of him, least of all after that stunt he’d just pulled.  It was best that he obey; at the very least, he could escape this disaster of a PT session trusting that he’d displayed himself capable of both restraint, and obedience when necessary.  He may have been Megatron’s most loyal follower, but he was hardly some kind of mindless killing machine.

He made no acknowledgement as he stiffly trudged down the hall in the direction of the room he’d taken residence in.  Judging by the damage to the walls, he was pretty sure that the Autobot called Bulkhead had resided in here before, but at this point it didn’t matter.  The room had since been stripped barren of all save a single recharge slab, presumably placed because, as a doctor, Ratchet couldn’t in good faith, allow a weakened mech no choice but to stand all of the time.  The slab, however, hadn’t seen much use from Soundwave himself these past few days. That wasn’t to say it was completely unoccupied, however.

Laserbeak lay at the head of the berth, unmoving as ever.  There was nothing Soundwave could do to wake Laserbeak faster, but he could at least try to be the first thing that little bird saw once he finally came to.  Carefully, he lifted Laserbeak from the slab, held him in spindly, delicate fingers, as close to his own spark as possible. And he stood. For hours, doing nothing more than watching his unconscious Symbiont, hoping that today would be the day that he showed some progress.  There wasn’t anything else for him to do, after all.

He stood until the world started spinning, and black pixels blotted out the corners of his vision, until his legs grew stiff and his frame threatened to collapse, and only then did he force himself to sit upon the recharge slab.  He didn’t want to think, or do anything but watch Laserbeak’s still frame, but his mind was far too active to go for such a time without stimulation; the thoughts came, regardless of what he wanted.

But when had his life ever been about what he wanted?

He wanted to be living with Megatron in a humble apartment in provincial Yuss, with five energetic Symbionts, and maybe a turbofox or two, and a little crystal garden in the window that would chime for him when the light hit it just so.  He wanted simplicity, peace, the love of a family that had long-since perished. Instead, he was here, in a world where the Autobots had won, where he was being blackmailed into helping his former enemies control his long-time allies. A world where Megatron, and all of the purpose he’d brought to Soundwave was no more.

What was he doing?

_ “You’re doing just fine,”  _ Megatron’s voice whispered in his audial, trying its hardest to soothe and comfort.   _ “I’ve left you in a terrible situation, and I’m sorry for it.  You should never have had to deal with the Autobots alone. You should never have had to face the world alone.  But if anyone can persevere through such adversity, it is you. I’ve never met a mech as stubborn as you. So do it!  Please, I’m already long gone; don’t cling to the past. I want nothing more than to see you happy, Soundwave.” _

_ Soundwave . . . _

“Soundwave.”

That wasn’t Megatron’s voice, any longer, but that of Optimus Prime.  He stood at Soundwave’s back, just as Megatron had, albeit farther away, polite, wary.  How long had Soundwave been hallucinating? Languidly, he turned away from the wall he’d apparently been staring at, to face the hated Prime.  

As usual, Optimus wore a sad look on his face - Soundwave supposed there was much to be sad about, but he hated that expression nonetheless.  He clutched Laserbeak more tightly to his chest, and waited. Sooner or later, Optimus would explain why he was here, and what it was he wanted from Soundwave.  

Though Soundwave already knew the answer to that, didn’t he?

“Are you alright?”  

It was not what Soundwave expected to leave the Prime’s mouth, but it was not surprising either.  Slowly, he nodded, and a soft smile formed on Optimus’s lips.

“I am glad.  You were not responding to my attempts at calling your name.  You have been through much lately; I was worried you were undergoing some sort of . . . episode.”

Is that what Optimus thought of him?  Soundwave was not so weak as that! Had he a face, or a voice, he would have protested, but for him, doing so was not worth the effort.  All he could do was keep staring. Hopefully, he could make Optimus just as uncomfortable as he made Ratchet.

He had no luck on that front.  There was very little that could upset the Prime, and Soundwave lacked the motivation to bother.  Optimus kept smiling for a long moment, as though he were proud of showing compassion for the enemy - what a great mech he was!  A regular saint! Soundwave was almost relieved to see the mournful look return to those stupid Autobot-blue eyes.

“Soundwave, while your ongoing recovery pleases me, I do have another reason for returning to Earth today.”  Ah, here it was. “Have you made your decision yet? Will you join our council on Cybertron?”

Soundwave had already made his choice on that matter (in so much as it could be called a choice), but a part of him clung to silent rebellion.  He would hold out for as long as he could; his dignity demanded it of him.

His intent flew right over Optimus’s head.  “Soundwave,” he said, pleading. “I know that we have left you in a difficult situation, and for that, I am deeply regretful.  However, I also know that you have some compassion in you, even if that compassion has never been directed towards the Autobots.”  He nodded at Laserbeak, and Soundwave clutched his still frame even closer. What gave Optimus the right to so much as  _ look _ at his Symbiont?!

“Apologies,” Optimus hastily said, realizing his mistake.  “I did not mean to upset you, but my point remains. I know that you want to help, and I know that you are not without the potential for redemption, regardless of what anyone says.  Please, join us, Soundwave. You can help so many, Decepticon and Autobot alike.” He paused, hesitating, before he added, “Please, I do not want to see you imprisoned.” 

That was the last straw for Soundwave, and the perfect opportunity to throw the Prime’s pretty lies back in his face.  He searched his audio banks for a specific sound clip.

[[ I know that Optimus may have told you otherwise, but you  _ are _ a prisoner here. ]]

Then, he jerked his head forward, a subtle gesture, meant as a reproach.  

Optimus translated the intent easily.  “Your situation,” he said slowly, “is not an easy one.  There are many who want you dead; you know this. But I don’t want you dead.”

Soundwave cocked his head.   _ Why _ didn’t Optimus want him dead?  He’d known Soundwave longer than any Autobot, had personally witnessed many of the atrocities Soundwave had committed against his friends and allies in Megatron’s name.  Surely he should have wanted Soundwave dead more than anyone. After all, Soundwave was the last remaining vestige of Megatron.

That was it, wasn’t it?  That was why. Soundwave’s gaze fell to the ground, thoughtful, even as Optimus kept talking.

“I understand that Megatron still means a lot to you, and he always will, I think, but we cannot stay trapped in the past.  Please, join us Soundwave. This is your best chance for freedom, for a future. I know you may not understand it, but I do wish to see you happy.”

_ I want nothing more than to see you happy. _

Soundwave hated just how much those stupid words affected him.  Somehow, Optimus had channelled that earlier hallucination of Megatron, had said exactly what it was that Soundwave wanted to hear, as mundane and pointless as it was.  How dare he! 

It wasn’t a prank this time; Soundwave was angry, desperate for one last shot at a way out, regardless of the consequences.  He crawled to his feet and marched forward with as much purpose as he could muster, his data cables flying at Optimus, reflecting his earlier faked-assault on Ratchet.  

Optimus didn’t so much as flinch as the cables shot past his head, burying themselves on either side of the doorway.  The threat hadn’t worked; Optimus didn’t fear him, and didn’t begrudge him, even though he should have. There was no way out for Soundwave, no way he could fight this, not now.  His fate was sealed; it was pointless to prolong the inevitable.

They were close now, and what the hell?  Soundwave slumped forward, his helm resting on Optimus’s chest, defeated, and retracted his data cables.  Mercifully, Optimus made no attempt to touch him.

“Soundwave?” he said.

[[ Soundwave, ]] he repeated Optimus’s words, rearranging them as needed, [[ will . . . join . . . the council. ]]

Though Soundwave couldn’t see Optimus’s face, he could hear the pistons in his jaw, twisting his lips upward, the shifting of now-relaxed frame.  At least one of them was pleased by this outcome.

“I am glad, Soundwave.  You will not regret this.”

Soundwave very much doubted that, but what could he do?  Without Megatron, he was more lost than he had ever been.

 


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time for Soundwave to see what a Cybertron under Autobot rule looks like.

Soundwave may have made the decision to return to Cybertron, but that didn’t mean he was shipped back right away.  He wanted out of this miserable place every bit as much as Ratchet wanted him out, true, but evidently there were preparations yet to be made, and his reluctant physician seemed to feel that travel wasn’t in his best interest just yet.  It was thus that Soundwave remained in that old Autobot base for three days more to complete his recovery, while Optimus did whatever he needed to do on his end to prepare Cybertron for the arrival of one of its most terrifying former-warriors.

Given the stiffness that remained in his legs as he walked, the heaviness of his head, his difficulty in achieving the full range of motion for his arms, Soundwave got the impression that three days was the minimum amount of time required on Optimus’s end; Ratchet clearly couldn’t wait to get Soundwave out of here, and had no doubt signed off on his transferal prior to a full recovery.  That was fine; Soundwave was used to being treated as a second-class citizen. What did bother him, however, was the increasingly noticeable silence that lingered in his head.

The space bridge had been one thing, but now it seemed that Soundwave couldn’t even eavesdrop on other people comms, a fact which left him further on edge.  Losing out on Ratchet’s comms was no big loss, but he was about to be thrown head-first into the backstabbing world of politics, all while deprived of his greatest weapon.  Clearly, Ratchet didn’t want him snooping, and no matter what Optimus may have said, Soundwave had little doubt that the sentiment extended to the rest of the Autobots as well.  A Soundwave deprived of that which made him the Decepticon ‘Spymaster,’ was a Soundwave that was easier for the opposition to stomach.

He was going to have to find a trustworthy doctor to fix that little problem for him at the first possible opportunity.  Knock Out, perhaps?

His faulty comm system wasn’t the only issue that needed fixing either.  Laserbeak had yet to awaken, and it was clear by this point that Ratchet either couldn’t or wouldn’t be waking him up.  For the time being, this was tolerable. As much as Soundwave wanted his Symbiont back on his feet, he didn’t want the poor bird to wake up, only to immediately be dragged via space bridge halfway across the galaxy.  Laserbeak needed time dedicated to his recovery, and right now, time was not in great supply.

He ran a data cable down Laserbeak’s spine; he’d been slotted back into Soundwave’s chest – a familiar position that felt so wrong without the lively buzz of their connection flowing through him.  Two and a half weeks of no change was a little bit much – Minicon or no. Soundwave was beginning to worry that Laserbeak’s condition was worse than he’d been lead to believe, but if he wanted answers, Ratchet wouldn’t be the place to get them.

After all this time, there was no way the mech hadn’t picked up on Soundwave’s distress when it came to his last surviving Symbiont.  Even now, Soundwave had no doubt that Ratchet had witnessed their one-sided exchange – given the way his vents had hissed at the deployment of Soundwave’s cables, only to relax for just a moment before sputtering again.  It seemed to Soundwave that, once the threat of danger had passed, the next feeling to hit the good doctor was guilt.

Ratchet, of course, pretended that this wasn’t the case, instead choosing to busy himself with the space bridge instead.  Without averting his gaze from his precious companion, Soundwave heard the various clacks and clangs as Ratchet pre-checked for operational integrity, before beginning the slow process of bringing the machine to life.  First it hummed, then it buzzed, then it roared – it’s voice a deeply familiar sound that Soundwave had once loved. These days, the noise of a Space Bridge filled him with an involuntary sense of dread. He, more than anyone, knew just how easily the precarious technology could go wrong.

_ The empty howling of the void called to him, like an old friend, “Soundwave, Soundwave, come back to me, Soundwave.” _

“Don’t be getting any ideas,” said Ratchet, pulling Soundwave from visions of an unmoving world, grey and lonely – a world displaced from time and space, a world that had been his prison and purgatory.  Had he a face, Soundwave would have glared.

Whatever emotion the medic saw in Soundwave’s frame was enough to shut him up, at least.  Ratchet offered no more words from that point, instead turning his attention back to the screaming, iridescent gate, tearing open a pathway between realities.  No more than thirty seconds must have passed, but to Soundwave, it felt like an eternity before he finally heard the heavy, clanging footsteps of the three mechs passing through.

Optimus Prime was the first to emerge, massive and morose as ever, complete with the unpleasant thrum of the Matrix buzzing in his chest.  The next was the huge, green disaster known as Bulkhead – formerly of the Wreckers – lethal in battle, but weak of conviction. He could carry a vat of Tox-En up a volcano with his bare hands, but his insecurities would be easy to take advantage of, and his relationship with his pet human was another weak point (No, d _ on’t underestimate the humans!).   _ The final mech to make his way through was that obnoxiously perky little scout – the one who had carried Megatron’s consciousness in his own frame for a moment.  Unlike his companion, this  _ Bumblebee’s _ combat prowess was not worth worrying over, but for one so young, the mech was surprisingly cunning.  He too, could not be underestimated, least of all for how much faith Optimus seemed to put in him.

So, this was his prison escort.

“Optimus,” said Ratchet, his eyes lighting up, his spark pulsing faster with joy, and strangely, anxiety.  Interesting. “It is good to see you again.”

“What about us?” Bumblebee teased.  Ah yes, this one had been mute before, but had gotten his voice back when . . .

Soundwave tensed, urging his data cables not to activate at the sight of Megatron’s killer.  After all these millennia, the great Megatronus, champion of the Pits of Kaon, had been defeated, not by his greatest rival, but by some opportunistic kid getting in a good pot shot.  Worse yet, Bumblebee didn’t seem to notice the quiet rage festering within Soundwave’s frame. Bulkhead, however, did.

“Err, shouldn’t he be in stasis cuffs?”  He glanced between Optimus and Soundwave, uncertain.

“It is not my intention to see Soundwave bound,” Optimus replied, casting an unreadable glance Soundwave’s way.  It felt somehow like a warning.  _ I’ve put my faith in you, Soundwave.  Don’t mess this up. _

At his side, Ratchet sputtered, “Optimus, I must protest!  This is a known war criminal you’re transporting! It’s bad enough that you are rewarding his eons of fanatical loyalty to our  _ enemies _ , but to let him go free while you are in such close quarters is too much!”

Languidly, Optimus’s gaze shifted to Ratchet.  “Your opinion is noted, Ratchet.”

Soundwave nearly laughed at the harsh dismissal.  Who’d have thought the great Optimus Prime would choose a Decepticon over his own mechs? 

_ It’s not so strange.  Megatron was a Decepticon after all. _

The thought sat like spoilt energon in Soundwave’s tanks.  He turned his attention to the floor, trying to put it from his mind, and keenly aware that the uncomfortably wide eyes of the scout were on him, curious yet wary.

“Optimus, come on.  We’re not really gonna take an air cab with Feelers over there up and about,” Bulkhead tried, his frame tensed and anxious.  “We all know what he’s capable of doing.”

The Prime’s mind was made up, however.  “Maybe so,” he acknowledged, “but progress cannot be made if we continue to cling to old prejudices.”  He nodded to Ratchet before Bulkhead had a chance to reply. “Ratchet, my old friend, thank you for managing our affairs on Earth.  We will return to Cybertron quickly, so as not to consume more energy than is necessary. I know I have asked much of you these past weeks, and again, I am grateful for your patience.”

Optimus really had to overstate everything, didn’t he?  So many words wasted on so simple a concept. It bothered Soundwave, probably more than it ought to have.  The soft sigh of Ratchet’s relaxing frame, however, indicated that the medic felt much the opposite.

“I trust you, Optimus,” he said, before tensing once again.  “I just hope for all our sakes that you know what you’re doing.”

Optimus did not reply to the admission, rather, he offered no more than a, “Goodbye, old friend.  Our paths will cross again soon,” before turning around and marching back into the portal. Even Bulkhead and Bumblebee were startled by the abruptness of the action, but they adjusted quickly enough. 

“Later, Ratchet!” said Bumblebee, offering a cheery wave.  “Say hi to Raf for me.”

“Miko too,” Bulkhead added.  With that said, as one, both mechs turned to follow their leader.  “C’mon Feelers.” Bulkhead moved in close, clearly with the intent of shoving Soundwave forward, but Soundwave dodged the contact.  If he was going to move, it would be on his own terms. He turned towards the portal.

Wisps of visible energy spiraled around the core, beckoning him to step into their embrace, screaming, crying, roaring – begging that he return to the void, that he allow himself to be devoured by the nothingness, trapped forever in that place where nothing ever changed . . .

He stumbled forward, barely catching himself before he hit the ground; Bulkhead had shoved him again, and this time, he’d failed to dodge.  Pit, he hadn’t even heard it coming.

“Come on, you heard Optimus.  We don’t got all day.”

He should’ve been angry, but truth be told, Soundwave was grateful for the distraction.  He’d been using and abusing Bridge technology for thousands of years – one mishap was a statistical inevitability.  But it was still one mistake amongst millions of successes. Nothing would go wrong here. He would take one step forward, and then another and another; he would pass through the space bridge and come out on the other side, on Cybertron, complete and synchronized and with the same four companions he’d entered with.

It took just under ten seconds of standing in the empty warehouse before Soundwave was able to convince himself he’d made it, and it wasn’t until the last vestiges of the space bridge portal disappeared behind him, that the roaring chasm turned to silence, and the room was left illuminated by only the dull glow of the distant sunset, shining through the high windows, that Soundwave was able to convince himself he was safe.  He looked around.

Given that the space bridge terminal was in here, as well as the general spaciousness of the room, Soundwave would have guessed that they’d arrived in a loading bay.  Those were the only discerning factors, however. The room had been kept carefully empty – a stray dolly, or a few nondescript crates could still be found – but beyond that, it was difficult to tell exactly what this room was used for.  If Soundwave hadn’t seen first-hand what Cybertron was transporting to Earth when they thought he wasn’t looking, the room’s purpose likely would have been left solely up to speculation.

Alternatively, he could have just waited for Bumblebee to speak.

“This here is Dock B,” he said cheerfully, prompting Bulkhead to stumble over his own feet.

“Bee!”

Bumblebee ignored the warning.  “From here, we transport all kinds of Cybertronian resources across the galaxy, mostly in exchange for fuel and building materials.  I know it’s kinda weird that we brought you here, rather than to your new quarters, but you’re gonna be staying in the Towers, and that whole area’s under a communications jam; you can’t bridge in – for security, and all that.  We figured it’d be easier to just leave Earth’s space bridge coordinates static, and take you home from here. It’ll give you a chance to see how Cybertron’s changed over the past few years too.”

“Way to tell him everything, Bee,” Bulkhead said, glaring, but Bumblebee was not dissuaded.

“I mean, he’s gonna find all this out sooner or later, right?  I don’t see any point in trying to keep it a secret. Right Optimus?”

“Indeed, Bumblebee,” Optimus said with a sigh.  “Soundwave is to serve as a member of the transitional council.  Hiding the council’s current actions serves no purpose.” He paused to look out over the sparse loading bay, a slump to his broad shoulders, a (deeper than usual) frown on his lips.  “Still, I am aware of how much I am asking of the council. While I do not find sense in obfuscating the truth, doing so makes them feel safer, and thus, I cannot condemn them for it.”  He shook his head, as though appalled by – what, Soundwave could not say. The waste of resources, perhaps. Or the stubbornness of his allies. The Prime was always harder to read than the others. 

Whatever the case, Optimus continued marching onwards, and his companions exchanged worried glances before following suit, but not before making sure that Soundwave was moving with the group.  Together, the five moved from the loading bay into the hallways, marginally more crowded, though whatever products remained out here had been hastily covered with sheets – as though Soundwave cared about any of this.

What he did care about, however, were the people tending to these objects.

Vehicons!  Their Decepticon emblems had been removed, true, but there was no mistaking them.  Some even stood to attention as Soundwave passed them by, and though they tried not to draw attention to themselves, he didn’t miss the whispers exchanged amongst the more brazen of the lot.

“Is that –”

“It’s Soundwave!”

“Oh no!  Why is he here – he looks like a prisoner.  Did they capture him?”

“Look, he’s not in cuffs though.  Maybe they’re  _ his _ prisoners?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  That can’t be it.”

“But why is he here then?”

“Why is he here?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

The Autobots paid the lot of them no mind, and on the surface, Soundwave mimicked their actions, but the reactions bit at him.  Optimus had been right not to cuff him. Vehicons were a chatty lot; had he returned home in such a state, no doubt word would have spread that Soundwave had been captured, robbing him of all credibility, and transforming him into a puppet of the Prime, once his role in the council was revealed.  As he was, Optimus at least maintained plausible deniability. No one would know of how he was blackmailed into the position, resulting in a Soundwave that arguably looked as though he agreed with any actions the council took. 

Whatever those would be.

So far, their management of this world hadn’t left much of an impression on Soundwave, but what he saw didn’t leave him feeling optimistic.  Their insistence on hiding their actions from him, as pointless as it was, gave him the sense that the same sort of underhanded, behind-closed-doors tactics of the old senate had already taken root in Cybertron’s new leadership, and their usage of solely Vehicons as a source of menial, low-class labor was indicative of the same sort of segregation that had plagued the Golden Age.  Though admittedly, the Decepticons had used the Vehicons in the exact same way. 

He picked up the pace, subtly, so as to not alarm his entourage, and tried his hardest to put the Vehicons and their grisly origins from his mind, ignoring the miserable pangs that wracked his spark as he did so.  He’d sort out his thoughts on their lot later.

Even at their casual pace, it didn’t take the group too long to escape the gloom of Dock B.  Outside, a fresh city, bathed in the red glow of the setting sun, awaited them. There wasn’t much to see from their current vantage point, but what was there struck Soundwave with a wave of nostalgia.  The buildings stretched up to the sky, their white surfaces glistening in the light of the sun. Gone was the grime, the waste, the senseless wreckage brought on by the war; one would be hard-pressed to imagine such a place had lied in ruin a mere two years prior.  At least one skyway had even been reconstructed – the holographic tube-like structure, utilized by high occupancy vehicles, sat just beyond the plaza that surrounded the loading docks, indicating that their current location was several-hundred feet above the surface.  To see such technology at this point was surprising, and strangely welcome. It almost felt like coming home.

“You gonna hop in?”  The grating voice of Bumblebee reached his audials.  He’d been dazed, dangerously unaware of his surroundings, even if for a few seconds.  What he’d missed in his moment of awe was the transport sitting idle in that magnificent skyway, apparently waiting to pick them up.  It wasn’t a particularly impressive sky cab, not compared to those he’d seen in another lifetime, but it’s novel presence managed to come close.  It was clean, white as the surrounding walls, and big enough to comfortably seat an entourage that featured mechs as oversized as Optimus Prime’s clunky new frame, if only just.  In the Golden Age, this vehicle would have been ridden by those of the lower-middle class; the thought of finding a Prime taking one was laughable. And yet, here they were.

Soundwave slipped into the cab’s booth, where two benches sat opposite one another, with just enough space to seat the four of them, though Bumblebee looked a little squished sitting next to Optimus, and admittedly, Bulkhead took up more space than Soundwave would have preferred.  He didn’t bother drawing attention to his discomfort, however. From his seat, he had an excellent view of the city below; he was determined to take it all in as they traversed it. He didn’t know how far away the ‘Towers’ were, but he hoped they was far.

“Pretty impressive, don’t you think?” said Bumblebee, after no more than a minute into their trip. 

Soundwave didn’t answer, though it seemed that Bumblebee hadn’t expected him to.  He continued, even as Bulkhead stiffened at Soundwave’s side.

“I never really got to see what Cybertron was like before the war, but if I think all the way back to my earliest memories, it didn’t look too different from this.  And all in two years! Who would have ever thought we’d get to see home again?”

“Bee,” Bulkhead groaned, “we’re not exactly friends here.”

Bumblebee promptly dismissed the reproach.  “Maybe not,” he admitted, “but you heard Optimus earlier.  We gotta put all that stuff behind us if we don’t want the war to break out again – and I don’t.”  He looked to Optimus for encouragement, only to find the Prime gazing distantly out the window. His frame sounded relaxed, peaceful, but who knew what was going on inside his head?

“Anyway,” Bumblebee continued, one it was clear that Optimus wasn’t going to provide any further direction, “we’re passing through the shopping district now.  It’s easily the busiest part of the city, and you can get pretty much anything you need, y’know, within reason anyway.” 

Busy was the right word.  Their own transport had slowed in the traffic, but the skyway wasn’t half so jam-packed as the streets down below.  Soundwave wasn’t sure why anyone bothered trying to drive in such circumstances; walking would have been faster. Despite the crowding, however, there wasn’t too much noise – certainly not the flaring sparks and groaning engines of angry drivers – a situation common in the Golden Age.  Evidently the novelty hadn’t yet worn off for everyone yet, and Soundwave didn’t blame them for it. Even he had never expected to see anything like this again. Pit, he hadn’t even realized that there were enough Cybertronians left in the galaxy to create such a crowd – to find he was wrong was, for once, a pleasant surprise.

All was not completely well, however.  The names of the shops were proudly displayed over their doors, and at their current speed, every sign was easy to read as they passed: ‘Maccadam’s Old Oil House,’ ‘King’s Auto Repair,’ ‘Paints, Appliques, and More!,’ ‘Off-World Imports,’ ‘Modern Home Furnishings,’ ‘Energon and Additives,’ and so many more, all scribed in the simplified script the Autobots had adopted over the course of the war.  As a communications specialist, Soundwave had no problem reading the foreign glyphs, but the average Decepticon would be rendered illiterate. Even so small a detail was a grave reminder of all he and his kind had lost over the past millennia.

Speaking of, though Decepticons were hardly a uniform lot, he couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of purple amongst any of the crowd.  It was one more point in favor of his segregation theory.

“Sorry for the traffic,” Bumblebee prattled on.  “We probably should have planned this better. This place is always a lot more crowded in the evenings.  The day shift’s over, but the night shift hasn’t started yet, so there’s a lot of folks trying to run their errands in between.  We’ll be on to the Cultural District next. There’s actually some buildings there that survived the original fall – imagine that!  But anyway, this area’s primarily gonna be your museums, libraries – there’s a concert hall too I think.” 

_ All aimed at the Autobots, no doubt, _ Soundwave thought, bitterly.

To see Iacon in such a state after so long wasn’t a bad feeling, but the triumph of Cybertron over the ravages of war was a bittersweet one.  This wasn’t the Cybertron Soundwave had fought so hard to achieve. It may have been early in the reconstruction process yet, but already the signs were there: the Autobots had simply slapped a shiny new paint of coat over the scars of their old society.  After all those thousands of years, all of the lives lost, all of the sacrifices and hardship, the Autobots had taken Cybertron right back to where it had been before the war – not quite so corrupt, but time would surely change that aspect.

He wondered how different it would have been, had the Decepticons won.  There would be far more order, for one. He imagined a city – a planet – remade in Megatron’s image.  The senseless frivolities of the Golden Age would have been done away with – the shops, the buildings, the roadways – all would have been utilitarian in nature.  There would be no traffic clogging the streets; the city would have been much too organized for such. Megatron’s rule was absolute, and his city would be run in much the same way his ship had been.  Rebellious streaks would be quashed, and fear would drive bots to behave. Perhaps not the warmest or kindest society, but in Soundwave’s view, it was far less insidious than the two-faced world of the Autobots.  Living with the Decepticons was far less stressful; you always knew where you stood amongst their lot, and Megatron had always been good about rewarding outstanding performances.

_ “It’s as though we never existed,”  _ Megatron’s voice echoed in his head, his visage reflected in the glass of the window.   _ “They’ve erased us, erased that which they consider an unsightly blemish on the face of our planet.  Had I won, the Autobots would have been subjugated, but they would still be visible. But where are the Decepticons?  Where are our brothers? Have they been forced once more into the darkness of the Underground?” _  There was a fire in his eyes, the likes of which Soundwave had never seen in this ghostly apparition.  It was frightening to behold.

“I know it must be difficult for you to return here, after everything that has happened.” 

Soundwave jolted back to attention, turning to meet the neutral gaze of Optimus Prime.  At the sound of their leader’s voice, Bumblebee stopped his incessant blabbering, and even Bulkhead sat up a little straighter.  The message, however, had clearly been intended for Soundwave. What had prompted it, he wondered. Had Soundwave really appeared so distressed as to warrant intervention?  He needed to be more careful.

“I know that, superficially, it looks much like the world which you and Megatron fought against, but I promise you, I –  _ we _ ,” he corrected, his frown deepening, “are doing everything in our power to not make the same mistakes as our forebears.  It may not be a perfect world that we are creating, but it is a world where everyone is free, as is their right.”

Soundwave fixed a long, scrutinizing gaze on the Prime, though what he was searching for, he didn’t quite know.  He heard no lie in Optimus’s voice, but with the Matrix cloaking the typical sounds of a Cybertronian frame, he wouldn’t have heard fallacies regardless.  All he could due was trust the words of a mech who had been his enemy for tens of thousands of years. It was no small feat.

“It’s not a bad place to live,” Bumblebee added, though his own words were tinged with a hint of worry.  That right there was the lie; Bumblebee’s doubt implied that there was something more going on here, something that Soundwave would implicitly disagree with, and from what he’d seen – the utilization of the Vehicons, the absence of the Decepticons, his own forced presence – it wasn’t difficult to imagine just what that was.  Freedom indeed.

“Don’t bother, Bee,” Bulkhead groaned.  “A Con’s a Con, and Soundwave’s the biggest Con there was, after Ol’ Megsie.” 

Soundwave tensed at the nickname.  The Autobots could disrespect him all they liked, but Megatron, despite his shortcomings, was still a sacred figure to him.  To hear Bulkhead refer to him in such a way was sickening.

“Why would he want to live in a world where we won?”

Unpleasant, the mech may have been, but at least he spoke with integrity.

The remainder of the journey was silent, as feelings of discomfort plagued Bumblebee from the tanks outward, as rage slowly trickled through Bulkhead’s every fuel line, and as that mysterious serenity continued to waft from Optimus Prime.  Soundwave would have much preferred to be anywhere but here, trapped with this mess of a party. At least the ride to the Towers was short.

During the Golden Age, ‘the Towers’ had been associated with the nobility.  Wealthy celebrities, the heirs of business empires, fledgling politicians, and the most prestigious of the academic castes were the sole occupants of such a place.  There was better, of course. Soundwave himself had been raised in Senator Ratbat’s private tower in Kaon, but short of holding a seat in the Senate, the Crystal City’s ‘Towers,’ were home to the most powerful, most famous, most elite mechs on all of Cybertron. 

It seemed that forty thousand years of war hadn’t changed that.

On the outside, there wasn’t much difference between this tower and all of the others that made up Iacon, save for the sheer size of the thing, but once inside, it was easy to mistake the locale for its Golden Age counterpart.  The floors were so polished, that Soundwave could see his reflection looking back up at him – where rich, imported rugs didn’t obscure the view at least. Likewise, the ceilings were high, decorated with modulating lights and crystalline fixtures – not so easy to come by on a post-war world, or so Soundwave imagined.  Portraits hung on the walls, mercifully not featuring any Autobots, but rather, general religious imagery – the thirteen Primes, the Forge of Solus put to work, an ambiguous hero wielding the Star Saber – and all painted with a sort of loving attention that only a mech with a lot of leisure-time could afford to spare. There was a picture in the elevator as well, though this one was holographic in construction and more offensive, in Soundwave’s opinion: a portrait of Optimus Prime embracing the Matrix of Leadership, though it struck him as interesting that Optimus himself had very pointedly turned his back on the image.

They arrived at Soundwave’s new home quickly enough, all the way on the eighty-ninth floor (and the only residence on the eighty-ninth floor).  Once inside, he also noted that the primary window was far too small for a full-sized mech to fit through. He couldn’t help but get the impression that somebody didn’t want him getting out.  This was his gilded prison – easy to guard, and difficult to escape from. Ratchet had been right: no matter how much Optimus insisted otherwise, Soundwave was not free. Would he ever be again?

The rest of the house wasn’t terrible.  There was an incredibly spacious main room (which seemed as though it could have effortlessly held at least half of the Nemesis’s crew, should it have the need), widely empty save for two shelves of data tablets, an energon storage big enough that he could walk inside of it, and, tucked away in a corner, a tub, and set up for oil baths, albeit there was nothing in it at the moment.  Additionally, there were three side rooms – one, a glorified closet, currently empty; one, a washracks (and a high-tech, glimmering one at that); and the third, what he imagined would have been the personal chambers of any other mech. There was a berth in here, big enough for a mech of Optimus’s great size (a waste on Soundwave), a shelf full of data pads, the contents of which, were probably state-approved, a full-length mirror, which made Soundwave a little more uncomfortable than he would have liked, and a small subspace hub, currently empty.

Not in a single one of these rooms was there anything resembling a computer terminal, or even a hook up for one.  Someone didn’t want him accessing information from the data net, it seemed. How predictable.

“How do you like your new place?” Bumblebee asked, stepping closer than Soundwave would have liked.  Soundwave dismissed the question by, in turn, stepping away, gliding towards the window at the back. He would much rather look out over the city, than play grateful. 

_ Yes, thank you Autobot friends, for the shiny new house.  I, Soundwave, love it very much! _

Not likely.

The luxury on display, even sparse as it was, was unlike anything he’d ever personally been privy to (even if it fell quite short of that which Ratbat had granted himself).  Truth be told, he hated it. The war had been started to bring equality to those who would deem themselves more deserving than all others. It was a sick joke that he’d been stuffed into the sort of house that threw this philosophy on its head.  But he didn’t complain. At least the view was pretty. And though he himself couldn’t fit through any of the windows, the same could not be said for Laserbeak. He would probably appreciate flying around up here.

“Bumblebee, Bulkhead, may we have a moment?”

“Optimus, are you sure that’s wise?” said Bulkhead, from his position by the door.  He hadn’t moved since their arrival, as though he’d expected Soundwave to try and bolt at a moment’s notice.

“I understand your concerns,” Optimus replied, his attention still focused on Soundwave, “but they are unnecessary.  Please wait outside. I will be out shortly.”

Bulkhead looked very much as though he wanted to protest, but there was no arguing with the Prime.  Though his frame remained tense, and his fists clenched, he trudged out the door, followed by a somehow, even further-conflicted Bumblebee.  The scout may have outwardly been making an effort, but Soundwave could hear the emotions that wracked his frame. Bumblebee was every bit as suspicious as his companion.  Soundwave was not sad to see either of them leave.

Once alone, Optimus remained silent for a long moment, as though struggling to find the words to say.  Soundwave would have preferred that he keep struggling forever, but the Prime was a bit more poised than that.  After an awkward eternity spent regarding Soundwave, he made a small gesture towards the vast, barren apartment.  “I apologize if this is not to your liking. I am aware that it is . . . flagrantly wealthy, but I think it is obvious as to the reason you are in this particular location.” 

_ Easily guarded, difficult to escape.   _ Yep, to Soundwave, it was obvious.

He turned his back on Soundwave, moving instead to gaze sadly out the window.  It would have been the perfect opportunity to strike, to take the high and mighty leader of the Autobots down a peg, but Soundwave didn’t dare.  He  _ may _ have been able to take on Optimus while at his best, but he was far from at his best right now, and the risks simply weren’t worth it. 

But oh, it was a lovely fantasy.

“I wish I could tell you that the wealth disparity on display here is not so bad as it may appear, but try as I might, I cannot convince myself of the fact; it would be dishonest to try and convince  _ you _ .”

What was this?  The great Optimus Prime, confiding in a Decepticon over the faults in his empire?  The absurdity was nearly laughable.

“That is, in part, why I wanted you here.  Your past actions have spoken to your competence, your wisdom, your integrity.  It is my belief that, with you – and in the future, perhaps further Decepticon voices – acting as advisor, we may yet avoid the mistakes of the Golden Age.”  He heaved a soft sigh and turned his back on the dull twilight beyond. 

“The council is uncomfortable with the notion of granting you too much power for the time being.  I have little doubt that, should you desire it, you will have little difficulty in accessing the datanet, at the very least, but I feel it would be easiest at this juncture if you acquiesce to their wishes, if only for diplomacy’s sake.  In the meantime, the data pads stocked in the apartment, have been filled with enough information to get you caught up on current events.”

He moved towards one of the shelves and began thumbing through a few of the tablets.  “Furthermore, the council feels that it would be most strategically sound to control the timing and means of your return to the public eye, a sentiment I agree with, though their means I am not so fond of.”  He spoke as though he was not a part of the council. How interesting.

“They have requested that you remain in this apartment until the time comes that they are ready to reintroduce you to the world.”  He pulled one of the tablets from the shelf, and marched back to Soundwave, depositing the thing in his waiting hands. Curious, he deployed a cable and connected with the it, flipping through the information stored within.

“In the meantime, if you need anything, please feel free to consult this catalogue, and put in a request to Bumblebee.  He will be staying on the floor above. Bulkhead is on the floor below as well, though I understand if you are not eager to interact with him.  It is difficult to change minds, once they are set, and the emotions brought forth by forty thousand years of war will be difficult to erase. Still, I have faith that we can do this.”

Slowly, he slid past Soundwave, back towards the door, though he did not complete the journey.  “I shall return in three days’ time, and we will move forward from there. I sincerely thank you for your cooperation thus far, and I look forward to working with you in the future.”  He turned his back, ready at last to leave, but a data cable on his shoulder stopped him. “Yes Soundwave?”

In his other cable, Soundwave held up the data pad, its display locked on one of its entries – it was a nest, the perfect size for a large lilleth bird, or a small Minicon – decked out in expensive Earth upholsteries and padding, and featuring such amenities as internal heating, a retractable cover, and a complementary stand – it would be the perfect bed for Laserbeak.  If he couldn’t wake him up, the least Soundwave could do was make sure he was comfortable.

The barest hint of a smile crept across Optimus’s lips.  “I understand,” he said. “I will put in the order immediately.  Is there anything else?”

Soundwave shook his head.

“Then good day, Soundwave.”  With that said, he slipped into the hallway, letting the door slide shut behind him with a quick hiss.

At last, Soundwave was alone, safe even, at least for the moment, not that his mind was content to believe it.  Four walls provided little protection for a prisoner – or worse, a political pawn. Though Optimus had made clear the divide between himself and the council, that did not give Soundwave any peace of mind.  The council may have wanted him dead, but Optimus was using him – to what end, Soundwave wasn’t so certain. He spoke of peace between the factions, but it was difficult to trust that prejudices didn’t factor into his visions of the future.  He’d said it himself, after all. Forty thousand years as enemies would color the decisions of any bot, even one so allegedly wise as Optimus Prime.

Further, while the Prime spoke of freedom, Soundwave was painfully aware of the many, and extreme limitations that had been placed on him.  The cage may have been pretty, but it was still a cage, no matter how Optimus tried to paint it. The hypocrisy between word and deed had Soundwave wary, and that was just the result of the treatment he’d personally received. 

The conspicuous lack of Decepticons in the city, or at least the parts he’d been privy to, had Soundwave more anxious than he would have liked to admit.  Whatever Decepticons had deigned to submit themselves to Autobot rule had no doubt been relegated to the slums, right back where they’d started. He wondered how many were suffering now, at the hand of the Autobots’ discrimination, and how many more had been too proud to submit, who still wandered the galaxy alone and aimless, caught in a war that, for them, could never be over.

What a miserable thought.

Yes, there was something rotten going down on this new, post-war Cybertron, and the Autobots, as always were to blame.  The only question this time, was whether or not Soundwave cared enough to do anything about it. Was the loss of dignity worth fighting against, least of all for one so weary, so broken as Soundwave?

He decided not to think about it for now.  There were several shelves of data pads awaiting his perusal – longing to tell him all of the many things that he’d missed while he’d been away.  He’d start there and hope that his fears were exaggerated. It was the best he could do for now, even if the vision of Megatron that haunted his spark watched him with disapproval in his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have taken some liberties with the timeline, I admit. I don't think they gave an exact number for the duration of the war in the cartoon (I think Optimus says they've been fighting for millennia at some point), and I typically ignore the rest of Aligned when writing tfp fic. Either way, I always thought that four million years was a ridiculous time frame, so that's been reduced, though not too drastically, I think.


	4. Things and People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As up to date on his current situation as can be, Soundwave begins scheming.

With nothing else to do, Soundwave poured through the data pads at a breakneck rate.  His greatest weapon always had been information, and in this horrifying new future, he was thus far unarmed.  It was an intolerable situation, and one that needed to be rectified immediately. So he gathered up every tablet in that too-big house, and he read, knowing full-well that he would only have access to the information the Autobots wanted him to see.

Learning the identities of the transitional council was a good place to start – he recognized the majority of the names from information gathered during the war.  In addition to Ultra Magnus, there was Prowl: a scheming mech with murky morals, and long-time head strategist of the Autobot forces; Perceptor: the long-time head of scientific development – intelligent and principled, but with little empathy; Jazz: former head of Special Operations, and long-time friend and confidant of Optimus Prime – a very dangerous mech; Springer: former leader of the Wreckers.  Soundwave had thought him dead, but evidently he’d been mistaken; Sky Lynx: an ancient, bestial mech, former commander of aerial forces on par with Starscream in his prime; Elita One: former head of the Nebulon-Autobot alliance, and a rare survivor of Grindcore Prison. To Soundwave’s surprise, there were not only Autobots on the council. They weren’t Decepticons, but rather two token neutral representatives, from some far-off colony called Caminus – Windblade and Aileron.  Soundwave had no further information on the pair, much to his own irritation.

There was more to learn about than the identities of the councilmechs, however.  Here, he had a tablet full of recent economic data. Another tablet held a database of every business currently operating in Iacon (and only Iacon.  It seemed the rest of the planet wasn’t up and running yet.), as well as growth and profit details. On another, there was unemployment data, which was particularly high in an area known as District Eight (Soundwave had little doubt as to just who lived in that district).  And on another yet, was a list of trading partners, receipts on materials spent and earned, and schedules for transfer and pickup.

There, was a tablet that read as a political news report – unrest in District Eight, protests, riots, arrests; more ‘peacekeepers’ had been hired to monitor the Decepticon district than any other, and Soundwave was appalled.  The Autobots had chosen to target symptoms, while allowing the greater disease to remain unchecked. At this rate, the planet would fall back into war in no time – a war that the Decepticons, in their current state, would have no chance at winning.

Then again, Soundwave didn’t foresee himself as being the one to divert Cybertron’s tumultuous destiny.  There was nothing a single bot could do on his own, even a bot as powerful and once-feared as Megatron’s right hand.  And even if he could alleviate some of the pressure put on the former Decepticons in this supposed time of peace, he wasn’t sure how far he could stretch his hand, or even how far he’d be allowed to.  The Autobots certainly had some sort of agenda of their own, and as weak as he was, Soundwave had little choice but to play along, at least for the time being.

Prison was starting to seem preferable.

He heard Bumblebee approaching well before the little murderer arrived, and though his slow, uneven gait gave the impression of a bot encumbered, Soundwave made no move to assist him with the door.  With any luck he would snap his spinal strut and find himself sobbing in agony on the hallway floor for hours. Or better yet, suffer sudden, lethal spark failure. Anything would have been preferable to facing down his new babysitter.

Alas, it was not to be.  The door hissed open after a few moments of sadistic fantasies, and Bumblebee hobbled through, cheerful yet wary, and carrying in his arms what appeared to be Laserbeak’s new bed.

“Special delivery for Soundwave!” he chirped, setting a few oversized bundles down on the floor, before letting his frame slump in a full-body sigh.  “Phew, that was heavier than it looked! But let’s get it all set up for you.” He spared no pause before getting to work, pushing buttons and flipping switches, transforming one piece into a long post, another into a basket, and another and another, attaching them to one another, fussing and fiddling until he had a nest that looked exactly like the one in the catalogue.  Notably, throughout the process, he never once turned his back on Soundwave.

Once finished, he rubbed the back of his arm along his brow, a meaningless gesture he’d likely picked up from the humans, and rose back to his feet.  “There, all done. I’ll let you set it up where you want. Oh yeah! I brought something else for you too!” He reached behind his back, and for one too long moment, Soundwave tensed, ready for that untrustworthy, undersized monster to pull out a sword and run it through Soundwave’s chest, just as he’d done with Megatron before him.  But when his hand returned to Soundwave’s line of sight, it was holding not a weapon, but a few sealed cubes of energon. With a smile in his eerie eyes, Bumblebee stretched the small stack towards Soundwave, who could only stare at them in dumb confusion. Why was Bumblebee giving him fuel?

It took only one awkward moment of standing there for Bumblebee to realized that Soundwave wasn’t going to take the cubes.  He wasn’t dejected, however. Instead, he sidled his way over to the energon storage unit, slid it open, and began slipping cubes in.  “I wasn’t sure what you like, so I brought a few different varieties. Just let me know which is your favorite when you can. It’s some pretty good stuff.  There’s this guy, Swerve, who runs the distillery. He really knows his energon!”

Bumblebee was a chatty little mech, wasn’t he?  He must have been making up for all those thousands of years without a vocalizer.  To Soundwave, who had given up his capacity for speech of his own volition, it was a small irritation, but one that could potentially be coaxed to his benefit.  All he needed to do was get Bumblebee to stop nervously blabbering about fuel and bartenders, and start blabbering about something a little more pertinent to the current situation.

Soundwave approached, and though Bumblebee didn’t retreat, his voice did noticeably raise in pitch.

“Oh, d-did you change your mind?  Go ahead and take your pick; I’ll get outta the way.”  He slid backward, and was more than a little horrified to find Soundwave pivoting to follow him.  “Not the energon then, got it. What else is there?” His oversized eyes darted around the room, at last falling on the pile of tablets strewn about the floor.  “Did you go through all of those already?”

Soundwave nodded, amused to see those wide eyes widen even further.

“Wow, you’re fast!  I’ll have to let Optimus know to that he needs to pick out some more for you.”

This time, Soundwave cocked his head, hoping to encourage the little pest to continue.  Any news of Optimus was a good place to start.

“He put a lot of thought into setting a sort of ‘crash course introduction to modern-day Cybertron’ for you.  Though I think he was expecting it to last you a couple days at least.” Again, he sidled around Soundwave, and back to the energon storage.  “It’s okay though! I get the feeling that he had a lot of fun with it. He was an archivist back before the war, did you know that? I think he has lots of fun with stuff like this – picking out information to share, that sort of thing.  It’s good for him too; he’s been so down lately. Nice to see him have something less depressing to focus on – well, comparatively speaking anyway.” He laughed and pulled a cube from the storage, thrusting it into Soundwave’s hand.

“You really should fuel up – I can’t believe you went through all that data in what, a day?  Primus, you’re scary when you want to be.”

Soundwave started at his cube, none-too thrilled with the sudden change in subject.  He’d learned that Optimus had been unhappy for some time now (and Soundwave would have bet all the fuel in his frame that the lack of Megatron in his life had something to do with that).  Further, Optimus apparently had enough free time to provide Soundwave with an entire library of relevant, if not surface-level information, and apparently still had enough that Bumblebee felt no qualm in asking him to do so again.  Though it was clear that the Prime still retained some degree of power and respect, it was also increasingly obvious to Soundwave that said power was very little. Most likely he was no more than a figurehead.

Imagine the sort of things he could have learned if only Bumblebee had kept on talking.

But Bumblebee wasn’t talking for the moment.  He’d moved over to the shelf on which Laserbeak’s inert form was currently resting.  Though there was nothing more than curiosity in his frame, Soundwave couldn’t stand the thought of Megatron’s killer in such close proximity with his last remaining loved one.  He extended a cable, ready to drag Bumblebee a safe distance away, but Bumblebee was nothing, if not observant. He scurried to the side the moment he saw the cables’ snake-like shadows cast upon the floor.

“Sorry!” he squeaked in a panic.  For a second, Soundwave had even heard the sound of weapons systems activating, but Bumblebee had been quick to interrupt that particular process.  “Sorry, I was just curious. I’ve never seen your drone this close before. You really care about it a lot, don’t you?”

Soundwave tensed, unconsciously rising taller, and advancing on the ignorant Autobot with as much threat in his stance as he could muster.  Laserbeak was no one’s drone!

“S-Soundwave?  What did I say?  I’m sorry. Was it ‘cause I called Laserbeak a drone?  Is there a better word for it?”

Safely between Laserbeak and that horrid Autobot, Soundwave chanced turning his back on the enemy to instead scoop Laserbeak into his cables, cradling him close to his chest.  In a way, this Autobot, Megatron’s killer, was responsible for Laserbeak’s current unresponsive state. And even though his processor noted the absurdity of the notion, it didn’t prevent his arms from stiffening, prepared to whirl around and smack the little brat off his feet.

_You need to calm down, Soundwave._

The ghost of Megatron’s voice in his audial did the trick.  When he turned to face Bumblebee, Laserbeak still wrapped in his cables, his temper was in check.  He cast a lingering stare on the foolish Autobot, before stepping around him to nestle Laserbeak safely on his new perch.  He made a great show of adjusting the heat and light settings, before turning back to his guest, whose mechanical eyes had irised out, thoughtful.

“You really do dote on that thi – that little guy, don’t you?” he observed, noticeably careful with his word choice.

Soundwave merely stared in reply, waiting for the realization to hit.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was alive . . .”  And there it was. All at once, those eerie cyan optics irised back in with a soft whirr, his frame stiffened so hard that his joints creaked, the pulse of his spark quickened and his EM field sang with a horrified buzz.  “Wait,” he breathed. “I-is he?”

Soundwave nodded.

“O-oh.”  He wanted to say more; Soundwave could hear the urges rolling off of that undersized frame.  The confirmation that Laserbeak was a living being rather than a drone was clearly upsetting to him, and Soundwave didn’t like the implications.  Amongst his own kind, Bumblebee had a reputation for friendliness, but he’d never shown mercy towards the Decepticons, if the armies of Vehicons he’d mowed down over the years were any indication, and that was to say nothing of Megatron himself.  There was no reason to feel guilt over anything he’d done to Laserbeak in the past.

But in the present?  Something that he was still doing to Laserbeak?  Something that was responsible for Laserbeak’s current unconscious state, perhaps?  Soundwave’s fists clenched, despite himself. He didn’t know what Bumblebee was guilty of, but knowing that he was guilty at all was enough.  He stepped forward.

“I’d – ah – I’d better go,” Bumblebee squeaked, scurrying towards the door.  “If you need anything, you know where to find me. I’ll see you later!” He was gone in a flash, gone before Soundwave could do something he’d come to regret.

But Soundwave was still angry.

There was a crash, a shattering of glass, a splash of something wet against his chassis; Soundwave was standing in a puddle of energon; the storage container had been tipped over, by his own cables apparently.  His people were starving, and he’d gone and wasted several cubes of fuel in a fit of rage. How deplorable.

Not only deplorable, but unproductive as well.  Wrecking his furniture wouldn’t bring Laserbeak back to him any faster.  If anything, it made his situation worse: the Autobots already thought him to be a monster; the last thing he needed was to prove them right.  Instead, he’d have to use his wit to rectify the situation. His wit, and his cables.

He turned back to the perch, the mess on the floor forgotten, and snaked a cable underneath Laserbeak’s belly, sliding small, tendril-like wires into his Symbiont’s connection ports.  As far as he was concerned, Bumblebee had provided him with proof that the Autobots had tampered with Laserbeak in some way. He was going to figure out just what they’d done.

It didn’t take him long to find what he sought.  He’d been connecting with his Symbiont his entire life, knew Laserbeak’s mind and spark even better than he knew his own.  He sure as hell knew that those foreign firewalls didn’t belong there. Large parts of Laserbeak’s mind had been locked away, encrypted in such a way that should have been easy for Soundwave to translate.  And yet, every time he looked upon the string of garbled gibberish that made up Laserbeak’s current consciousness, his optics blurred, and his mind wandered – likely one more block the council had put upon him.  He couldn’t remotely connect to the data net, he couldn’t physically connect with his own damn Symbiont, and apparently they’d implemented some kind of virus that interfered with his linguistic processes. What other violations had they inflicted upon him?

_It’s like the old senate never left._

Mental blockades or not, he couldn’t leave Laserbeak like this.  He was Soundwave, perpetual worker of miracles, and Laserbeak was the last remaining thing in this world he cared about.  If he had to pull a miracle out of his aft to get Laserbeak up and running again, then that was exactly what he would do, even if the sea of incomprehensible glyphs that washed over him made his head spin.  His free cable stretched across the room, groping around for a moment until it found a data tablet; he dragged it back to him, overwriting its data with his own notes. One way or another, he was going to figure this out.

He didn’t know how long he spent like that: attached to Laserbeak, copying down patterns onto one data pad, downloading a database of Autobot codes onto another; Neocybex on another; Primal Vernacular on another yet; indigenous Vosian, Iaconian, Polihexian languages; Autobot glyphs, Decepticon glyphs, forgotten glyphs, glyph hybrids; he even threw in some twenty human languages just in case; in the end, every data pad in the room was employed in his project.  Primus knew how many hours he spent cross-referencing each pattern with every database he had on hand, hoping against hope that he could figure out the code.

_“Soundwave.”_

He shook off the invisible touch of claws on his shoulder.  He couldn’t afford to be interrupted right now. Laserbeak needed him.  No one else was going to help.

_“Soundwave, you need to refuel, need to rest,”_ said Megatron’s ghost.  “ _Laserbeak will thank you for it.”_

Soundwave shook his head, trying to ward the obnoxious voice away.  This wasn’t the first time the two of them had had this conversation, it should have been obvious that Megatron’s death wouldn’t put an end to it.

“ _Soundwave, please rest.  The Autobots have done so much to hurt you already; don’t let them kill you as well.”_

Soundwave stiffened, pausing in the middle of copying over a series of glyphs.  He wasn’t going to be able to get anything done if Megatron kept distracting him like this.

_“Later,”_ he told himself.  “ _Soundwave will rest.  Breakthrough: impending.  Megatron: distraction. Please desist.”_

Megatron said no more, and Soundwave got back to work, more determined than ever.  But he should have known that Megatron wouldn’t take disobedience lightly; he never had.  Even death wouldn’t change that.

There was a knock at the door – Optimus Prime.  He really did have impeccable timing. But Soundwave didn’t want to interact with the Prime right now, not when he was so immersed in his work.  Hopefully, if he ignored his visitor long enough, he would go away.

No such luck.

After several long seconds, the door slid open, and the bulky, unnatural frame of Optimus Prime strode into the room.

At first, he said nothing, instead casting a worried gaze around the room, taking in the nest of data pads Soundwave had buried himself in, the positioning of his cables, and something farther back – the upturned storage cabinet and broken energon cubes, still on the floor where he’d dropped them, once he bothered to look himself.  Somehow, the Prime’s already sad face fell even further, his disappointment radiating from him in a way that even his Matrix-altered spark couldn’t obfuscate.

“Soundwave,” he said slowly.  “I wish I could say that it was good to see you, but I am not certain that the statement would be true at the moment.”

What did Soundwave care?  The two were enemies; Optimus shouldn’t have wanted to see him at all.  In protest, he returned his attention to Laserbeak’s inert frame, and the lines of code dancing across the data pad.

Optimus continued as though Soundwave were still focused solely on him; it was more distracting than Soundwave would have liked to admit.

“Bumblebee expressed concern as to your state of wellness, following his previous visit.  It would seem that he was right to worry.”

Soundwave ignored the patronizing statement, and he ignored Optimus altogether, as he stepped further into the room, standing sadly over the puddle of spilled energon, most likely contemplating how he was going to clean it up.  His big, boxy frame didn’t allow for much in the way of stooping and bending. Perhaps _that_ would be a sight worth seeing.

Alas, Optimus remained stationary, save for a shifting of his face and optics, back towards Soundwave.

“You’ve been working at that for a long time now, haven’t you?”

A stupid question – one not worthy of an acknowledgment.

“It has been two days since Bumblebee came to visit, and I imagine two days since this energon found its way to the floor.  Soundwave, have you moved from that spot since Bumblebee left?”

Soundwave cocked his head.  Had it really been two days already?  He’d been so immersed in his work, he must not have noticed.  It wouldn’t have been the first time. And for that reason, he knew exactly what Optimus was going to say next; he began digging through his archives for an appropriately disrespectful response.

“Have you come any closer to repairing Laserbeak?”

It was not the display of forced-concern he’d been expecting.  Caught off-guard as he was, Soundwave couldn’t stop his head from snapping around, locking onto Optimus’s position, nor could he stop the hiss of static that interrupted his queued-up retort.

“No, I imagined not.”

_Aft.  Smug, self-righteous aft!_

“You are talented, Soundwave, but your task is near impossible, in your current state.”

One of his cables had disconnected from its tablet to wave threateningly in the air, ready to shoot forward and strike at a moment’s notice.  Optimus was unfazed.

“I do not know what is wrong with Laserbeak, but it is cruel to keep him in his current state.  It would seem that the council did not trust that our current arrangement would be enough to keep you in check.  Still, for what it is worth, I did not approve of this, and I do not condone it.” He took a step closer, and another, until he was kneeling at Soundwave’s side (with a disappointing lack of clumsiness, no less).  “I will put an appeal through to the council to find a doctor that will properly repair Laserbeak, if that is agreeable to you.” He even had the audacity to lay one massive hand on Soundwave’s arm, as though they were friends!

Soundwave shook off the touch with a hiss, but he made no move to attack nor retreat.  As much as he disliked the thought of any more Autobot doctors digging around in Laserbeak’s head, the fact of the matter was, in his current state, he was useless to his Symbiont.

Perhaps there was a Decepticon doctor who could assist.

{{ Knock Out, }} Megatron’s voice sneered through his audio transmitters; he took glee in the slight shudder that wracked Optimus’s frame at the sound.  His composure returned quickly, however.

“Knock Out, I see,” he said, voice heavy with thought.  “That may be a possibility. I will try and have it arranged.”

{{ Thank you ; Optimus, }} Megatron’s voice continued, patched together from two different conversations.  Ordinarily, Soundwave wouldn’t have bothered, but it was ever so satisfying to see the normally unyielding Prime flinch.  And though Optimus no doubt knew exactly what Soundwave was doing, he didn’t call him on it.

Instead, he rose back to his feet, carefully stepping around the pile of data pads and closer to the door.  Without turning around, he said, “There is a council meeting tomorrow afternoon. It was my desire to see you in attendance, but after what I’ve seen today, I am not sure you’re ready to be presented to them just yet.”

Soundwave was scrambling to his feet, hissing his protestation before he even realized what he was doing.  He’d always been a homebody at heart, but there was a difference between locking himself in a tower and being locked in a tower.  He’d been waiting far too long already to meet with his enemies; like the Pit was he going to keep on waiting, simply because Optimus wanted to nanny him.  Soundwave was not weak!

Optimus turned once more as he approached, just in time to see the words flicker across Soundwave’s visor:

_Issues to be Addressed with the Transitional Council of New Cybertron:_

  1. __Forcing political prisoners into stasis lock to use as a bargaining tool.__
  2. _Lobotomizing political prisoners._
  3. _Forcing Decepticons into low income neighborhoods._
  4. _Excessive policing of Decepticon neighborhoods._
  5. _Double standards in the arrests of Decepticons as opposed to Autobots._
  6. _Erasure of Decepticon history._
  7. _Whitewashing of Autobot history._
  8. _Enforcing linguistic barriers to prevent Decepticon access to higher end neighborhoods._
  9. _Prejudice in the hiring of former Decepticons._
  10. _Unfair restrictions on Decepticon businesses._
  11. _Lack of free-acting Decepticon presence in the Transitional Council._



_. . ._

The list went on, acting as a voiceless rant of the many things that had been bothering him since he’d arrived in Iacon.  From what he knew of the Council, they wouldn’t bother addressing any of the issues, but Optimus, if nothing else, was sympathetic.  Facing the council would be an uphill battle, but with any luck, he could use the respect and power of Optimus’s position to his advantage, perhaps even more so than Optimus himself was currently doing.  Optimus may only have been a figurehead, but that didn’t change the fact that his underlings practically worshipped the ground he walked upon, and that those same underlings made up the majority of Cybertronian leadership.  If he played his cards right, he might be able to turn the tables on his captors. It was the only way he was going to be able to get by, and there was something strangely satisfying about the notion of luring the leader of the Autobots into the service of the Decepticons.

“I . . . see,” said Optimus as the list finished scrolling with ‘ _Unfair restrictions on military-grade alt modes,’_ not because he had run out of things to say, but because he’d gotten distracted in his efforts at compiling this list by Bumblebee’s arrival and his own subsequent urge to repair Laserbeak.  Optimus, at least, had the decency to look disappointed. “You are very thorough.”

{{ Superior work as always, Soundwave, }} came Megatron’s voice once more.  With Optimus already gazing closely into his visor, he was fully privy to the flash of pain that crossed those delightfully morose, cyan optics.  Still, Optimus made no protest, save for straightening up and turning away.

“Very well, Soundwave.  You have made your point.  I will return tomorrow, and if you are up to it, I will bring you to your first council meeting with me.  However,” his frame grew tense, and his spark gave a strange flutter that even Soundwave’s skilled audials couldn’t translate.  “I want you to refuel and get some sleep. The council is already against you; you need to present the best image possible, lest they come to believe you are not offering them due respect.  I know it is easy for you to lose yourself in your work, but if ever there was a time to break habit, it would be now.”

He didn’t look at Soundwave, but he did cast a quick glance at the puddle of energon that still stained the floor.  “I will have Bumblebee bring you more energon. Please do not waste any more. Goodbye, Soundwave.”

Soundwave watched him go, somehow feeling as though he had lost the encounter, despite all of his petty jabs throughout.  Optimus was ultimately right; Soundwave did need to make a good impression on the council, but the thought of doing it on Optimus’s terms left him feeling unsettled.   _He_ was supposed to be the one in charge; if he relinquished what little power he held, for even a moment, it was all over for him.

With a sigh, he disconnected from Laserbeak, and lifted him back up onto his perch.  There was no sense in poking at him further right now; Knock Out would hopefully be of more assistance, and though he had no affection for that treacherous doctor, it would be nice to see a familiar face again.  

Next on the agenda was reorienting the storage cabinet, and cleaning the puddle of energon and the shattered remains of its receptacles; that was easy enough as well.  He even picked up the data pads and filed them away on his bookshelf for later use. But that was the end of his acquiescence.

He had no intention of sleeping.  He was tired, true; he hadn’t managed a proper recharge even once since arriving in this new gilded prison, but he didn’t care.  Soundwave was used to running on little sleep; he would have no problem functioning at his usual capacity at the council meeting tomorrow.  It was more important that he retain some semblance of self. A prisoner he may have been, but Soundwave was no slave. He would not jump, just because Optimus had commanded it.

Instead, he kept one of the data pads, and took it with him to the room intended to be his quarters.  He even sat on the recharge slab, to give the impression of obedience. But instead of shutting down his processes, he began the long and tedious task of examining the firewalls that were blocking access to his own brain module.  He didn’t expect to make any progress tonight, but he didn’t care. It only mattered that he tried, that he kept on fighting, that he not lay down and become the faithful dog of those he’d spent his entire life at war with.

_“Superior work as always, Soundwave.”_ He hadn’t expected Megatron to like the plan, but the encouragements shouldn’t have surprised him.  After all, Megatron’s hatred of the Autobots trumped his love for any of his own allies – even Soundwave.  And that was alright.

With the deep, tender words of his lost leader whispering into his audial, Soundwave worked all through the night, and into the morning.


	5. The Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave attends his first session with the transitional council. It goes about as well as he'd expected.

It was spite that kept him going.  Soundwave was tired, hungry, and miserable, but he would sooner have died than let the Autobots know of such things.  His efforts to remove the blockade that clogged his processor had gone about as well as anticipated, but he wasn’t going to let it get to him, not now.  Instead, he focused on the shrill hum of the air cab’s motor, the soft tapping of Bulkhead’s fingers against the plush seat, the impossibly calm pulsating of Optimus Prime’s not-quite spark.  The city rushed by them down below, a dull buzz made of hundreds of different voices bursting forth for a second or less, distracted by the humdrum worries of a normal life. How nice it must have been for them.

He could feel Optimus’s eyes on him, soft, but suspicious all the same.  It was as though the Prime was trying to read Soundwave’s mind, trying to find a reason behind the weaker buzz of his EM field, an indicator of his current exhaustion that should have been barely perceptible for even a bot that knew him well.  The Prime shouldn’t have been able to detect any difference at all, and yet he wouldn’t stop staring. There had to be a reason for it, and that was the only one that came to mind.

Soundwave held out as long as he could, but once the discomfort grew too much to bear, he turned from the window, fixing an empty stare on Optimus’s equally unreadable face.   _The bastard_.

“Something wrong, Feelers?” Bulkhead said, a warning rather than expression of concern.  Soundwave spared Bulkhead the briefest of glances before resuming his prior position, attention fixed on the city below.  He delighted in the momentary offended skip in the mech’s spark.

“Just remember to behave yourself.  Optimus is really sticking his neck out for you.  The way I see it, a Con’s a Con. They made their choice, just like we made ours.  Now they get to live with the consequences of their actions.”

“Bulkhead,” Optimus warned.

“I know, I know.  ‘Don’t fan the flames of old prejudices;’ you keep saying it.  But I think it’s safe to say that most Bots think like me. Most of the council too.  I don’t know how Soundwave’s supposed to change anyone’s minds, but if you really think he can do it, then what do I know?  Wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong.” He laughed, but there was no humor within it, before returning his focus to Soundwave.  “I’m just sayin’, you oughta watch your back. The whole world’s gonna be against you for the things you’ve done.”

As if it wasn’t painfully obvious.  It wasn’t the thought of a world full of enemies that made Soundwave uneasy, however.  He was a high-ranking Decepticon. He’d had enemies on all sides for the duration of the war, and even stretching back further.  But this time, he had no power, no knowledge to defend himself with. He was effectively helpless, at the mercy of those who would destroy him and his.  Bulkhead told him nothing he didn’t already know, and thus Bulkhead was deemed momentarily irrelevant. There were other, more important things to focus on.

It was impossible not to notice how very decadent the Council District of Iacon was.  The buildings were polished to perfection, reaching higher than ever. The streets were less crowded – presumably the common riff raff knew well that they were not welcome in such a place.  Art fixtures were more numerous, and somebody had even paid to import crystal sequoias from Primus knew where, to break up the monotony of the white, _white_ structures with pastel blues and yellows and pinks.  A fountain gushing what was almost certainly water, sat at the center of the district, twisting its ornate way upwards until it shaped itself into a statue of Optimus Prime. The wastefulness was despicable. Everything about this district was.

He knew the identities of every mech on the council.  Who among them could have possibly thought such flagrant spending was a good idea?  Sky Lynx, perhaps? Maybe the newcomers? And while he was at it, he had to wonder who among them had deemed it necessary to keep the Decepticons living in poverty, or who had decided to force Laserbeak into a never-ending coma.  He’d only been out for two years. How had the world gone to hell in so short a time?

It didn’t take long to reach the council hall, and the remainder of the ride passed in a blissful silence.  Bulkhead was still angry, and Optimus was still eerily serene, but in the absence of words to focus on, Soundwave had plenty of time to enjoy the relative peace.

They left Bulkhead at the aircab; evidently, he wasn’t important enough to be granted passage into these hallowed halls.  Soundwave would have been feeling very special right now were he the type inclined to give a damn about societal status. It was all an illusion, forced upon the masses by complacency and ignorance.  Disgusting.

The hallway was long, and though there had been a pair of guards stationed at the front door, the vast corridor that led to the council’s chambers was empty save for Soundwave and Optimus.  The sudden privacy apparently gave Optimus enough courage to strike up a conversation, much to Soundwave’s irritation.

“I know this must be difficult for you, Soundwave,” he said, “but I have the utmost faith in your ability to make a real difference.”

Soundwave did not have that same faith, but he didn’t bother giving voice to it.

Optimus continued.  “Despite what it seems, your . . . unique perspective is something that many of the councilmechs have been looking forward to.  There is a real opportunity to do some good, if we are able to play this right.”

_We_ , he’d said, as though they were a team.  It was rather presumptive of him. Soundwave had no intention of working with Optimus Prime.  He was done with being a follower; Soundwave was on his own now, and never had it been clearer.

Optimus seemed to sense that his encouragements were falling on deaf ears, so he mercifully gave up on that route.  Instead, he opted for explanations. “I should inform you that the council is already in session. Since you are being newly introduced, they requested that we arrive later in the day, so that they could get their typical business matters accounted for first.  I am certain you understand.”

_“They want to limit your platform.  They don’t want to hear from you at all; they’ve made that much abundantly clear.”_ Megatron’s ghost was right, of course.  In the two years he was out, the Autobots had established a new status quo on Cybertron, one that, judging by the flagrant wealth the councilmechs had surrounded themselves with, benefited them quite greatly.  Just by existing in their space, Soundwave was a threat to that very same status quo; of course the council would want to limit his effect, regardless of their personal feelings. It was why they deprived him of information, kept Laserbeak as a hostage to dangle over his head.

Yes, Soundwave understood well what was going on.  He’d spent his whole life smack dab in the center of political power struggles, manipulation, backstabbing.  He’d been caught between some of the biggest egos in Cybertronian history, and he’d still come out on top. The council could do whatever they wanted to get in his way; he’d been playing this game longer, harder, better.  In the end, he would triumph, and see to it that his every heart’s desire was met.

Though what exactly it was that he desired was the only real question left.

“We’re here,” said Optimus, as they finally reached the end of the hall, and the heavy door that awaited them, adorned in holographic interfaces.  The Prime didn’t make much secret of inputting the key code to access the room, but Soundwave paid close attention nonetheless, committing the string of glyphs to memory.  Any knowledge was power in the right circumstances, and to that end, Soundwave would learn everything he could, even if the information in question was as trivial as a door code.  Not that the door code was the only thing he picked up on. Even before they passed through those walls, he could hear the voices within chattering away.

“. . . I can understand why it’s in place, I just . . .” said a feminine voice, one that Soundwave was unfamiliar with.

“We’ve been receiving complaints all around about the tax.  I promised Warpath that we’d discuss it, and frankly, I can see where he’s coming from.”  That was Springer, Soundwave was pretty certain.

“There is no reason to carry military-grade weapons in a civilian environment,” said another unfamiliar feminine voice.

“If it was just arm-mounted cannons or subspaced pulse rifles, you’d get no protest from me,” Springer conceded, “but we’re talking deep coding – an entire frame group here!”

“A frame group that, by and large, wound up in support of the Decepticons.”  Soundwave was pretty sure that this voice was Elita One.

“Are you saying that a newspark who happens to come out of the Well as a Tank should be forced to undergo a reformatting, or otherwise pay for something they had no decision in?”  So, it seemed Springer wasn’t completely unsympathetic, which was more than could be said for some of his companions. Based on her own argument, Elita One was clearly going to be one of his greater enemies.

“My fellow councilmechs,” that was unmistakably Prowl.  “It seems Optimus has arrived with his . . . pet project.  We’ll continue the discussion later.” Seconds later, the door opened, and Optimus strode into the room, with Soundwave looming behind.  At once, nine pairs of optics were on him, curious, distrustful, bitter. Soundwave took a moment to make his own observations about the council, as they no doubt were doing to him.

The two neutrals, Windblade and Aileron, regarded him with a cautious interest.  No doubt they’d heard tell of him, but without first-hand experience, there was no reason for hostility from either.  That was good. He could work with that. Ultra Magnus, who _had_ dealt with Soundwave in the past, however, did display that hostility, but his gaze was quick to turn from Soundwave to Optimus, a sense of resignation in the sigh of his frame.  Springer was in a similar boat – though his gaze was fixed on Soundwave, he kept casting glances at the Prime, as though trying to ascertain that this was truly his will. They weren’t allies, but the loyalists to the Prime would undoubtedly be useful, should push come to shove.

The look that Prowl fixed upon him was near-unreadable, but his frame betrayed him.  There was a tension in his door wings, a flicker in his spark that made his displeasure all too clear to Soundwave’s audials, not that he was surprised.  As the closest thing Soundwave had to a counterpart amongst the Autobots, he would have expected no less. Meanwhile, Sky Lynx was less subtle about hiding the glare in his beast-like face, and Elita One was even more flagrant in her hate.  Trembling fingers gripped at her data tablet hard enough that the screen gave a soft creak of protest; much more pressure, and it would crack. These three right here, would be his biggest obstacles.

Then there were the outliers.  Jazz was always a mysterious sort, even to Soundwave’s trained audial.  He’d been a long-time friend of Optimus’s, which was good for Soundwave, but Soundwave knew better than to trust him.  Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure what a mech like Jazz was even doing on a transitional council. He was more of a ‘carry out shady orders under cover of darkness’ sort than one for playing the political game.  And Perceptor, the final council member, was even further perplexing. He wore no expression on his face, and carried none in his frame. Could it be that he was a true neutral party in this place?

Ultra Magnus was the first to speak.  “Optimus Prime, it is good of you to join us.”  Rather than greet Soundwave, however, he only offered the barest nod of his head in acknowledgement.  Soundwave expected nothing more.

“It is good to be here, old friend.”

“And this must be Soundwave,” said one of the neutrals, Windblade, if memory served.  “It is good to meet you.”

Soundwave should have done something to return the greeting – a nod, an echo of the mech’s offer of goodwill.  Primus knew he needed all the friends he could get at this point, and every little bit helped. But Soundwave had never been the type to play the political game.  Trading favors and staying atop of the tumultuous heap of insults and compliments, friends and enemies, and enemies of friends, and friends of enemies – Soundwave was well-acquainted with exhaustion, and even he found all of the layers of subterfuge far to tiresome to navigate.  He wished Optimus had hunted down Starscream instead to fill the position.

“Apologies, Councilor Windblade,” said Optimus, stepping in after the embarrassing slip up.  “Soundwave is actually functionally mute.”

Soundwave cast a brief stare at the Prime.  The fact would have come up sooner or later, but an irrational part of him protested his former enemy divulging any details about him at all, least of all to his current enemies.

“Ah, of course!  Sorry to assume!” said Windblade, her spark fluttering with embarrassment.  It wasn’t an ideal emotion, but it was still better than the derision that hit him from Elita One.

“Forgive my saying, Prime, but how do you expect him to conduct business with the rest of the council if he cannot communicate?”

The question made sense for some dumb Autobot who had spent most of the war having only the barest idea of who Soundwave was, but he hated it anyway.  He was the former Decepticon _communications_ officer.  Of course he could communicate!  To prove his point, he pulled a data tablet from his subspace and slid one of his data cables into its port.  A few thoughts later, a holographic projection had appeared in front of him, not quite as large or crisp as he would have preferred, given the limitations of the hardware, but it suited his purposes.

_Issues to be Addressed with the Transitional Council of New Cybertron:_

  1. __Forcing Political prisoners into stasis lock to use as a bargaining tool.__
  2. _Lobotomizing political prisoners._
  3. _Forcing Decepticons into low income neighborhoods._
  4. _Excessive policing of Decepticon neighborhoods._
  5. _Double standards in the arrests of Decepticons as opposed to Autobots._
  6. _Erasure of Decepticon history._
  7. _Whitewashing of Autobot history._
  8. _Enforcing linguistic barriers to prevent Decepticon access to higher end neighborhoods._
  9. _Prejudice in the hiring of former Decepticons._
  10. _Unfair restrictions on Decepticon businesses._
  11. _Lack of free-acting Decepticon presence in the Transitional Council._



_. . ._

“I stand corrected,” Elita mumbled, though it was with a clear voice that she addressed Soundwave.  “What is all of this? ‘Lobotomizing?’ Who, exactly did we lobotomize?”

Soundwave could only stare at her in disbelief.  Did she really not know?

“Well?”

“I believe,” said Optimus, “that he is referring to the firewalls installed in his processor without his consent, in the interest of limiting some of his more concerning abilities.”  Thankfully, Elita had no retort to that. Prowl, however, did.

“Don’t be coy, Soundwave.  Anyone can see that you are no mere political prisoner.  Honestly, I’d hesitate to even call you a normal mech.” Soundwave bristled, but didn’t retort.  Surprisingly, he had Springer to do that for him.

“Prowl!”

“What, do you deny it?” Prowl replied, unmoved by the admonishment.  “Perhaps you need a reminder as to just what this mech managed to accomplish during the war?  Even Optimus agrees that Soundwave is dangerous.”

Optimus didn’t bother defending himself, but Ultra Magnus took it upon himself to speak in his stead.

“No one is arguing that Soundwave isn’t a dangerous and phenomenally capable mech, but he is a mech nonetheless.”  He frowned, staring intently at his own data pad, though Soundwave doubted there was anything within it that pertained to the situation.  Ultra Magnus was just hiding. “And his complaints aren’t entirely unjustified. Even a prisoner has basic, unalienable rights.”

“To which I posit,” Prowl shot back, “Soundwave is not a political prisoner, but a war criminal.  However valid his points may be, he has no business presiding over Cybertron in any capacity.”

A war criminal?  Soundwave wondered what, exactly, he’d done to warrant that title, or if Prowl was in the habit of assuming all Decepticons were war criminals by default.

“Regardless of any crimes he committed during the war,” Perceptor piped up, voice impassionate and eerily unreadable, “the fact remains that he commands respect from the Decepticons.  Under the grounds of the Treaty of Iacon, the common Decepticon foot soldier is forgiven for whatever actions he may have taken during the war, but points three through eleven in Soundwave’s list of grievances,” he motioned a hand toward the hologram, still projected at Soundwave’s side, “are not unfounded claims.  If we wish to maintain a peaceful Cybertron, we need to rectify these issues, and employing a respected figure whom the Decepticons can rally behind, in my opinion, is a step in the right direction.

“Besides,” after a moment’s fiddling with his own data tablet, a projection appeared over his own head, this time showing a table, filled the names of several of the most prominent Decepticons, and attached to each name was a series of codes, the meanings of which, if Soundwave recalled correctly, indicated corresponding case files.  Perceptor continued, “when compared with the rest of Decepticon high command, Soundwave’s crimes are, on average, more benign in nature. He is dangerous, undoubtedly, but he’s no cunning mastermind.”

Soundwave again bristled at the observation.  Perceptor wasn’t wrong, exactly. Soundwave had no sadistic inclinations, no devastating schemes, and no stomach for subjugation.  His only sin, as far as he was aware, was being lethally good at his job. Still, he didn’t much like hearing himself described in such terms.  It somehow made him feel less threatening, as though he had no agency of his own. But he wouldn’t complain. He’d put up with character assassination any day, if it meant that the council would give Laserbeak back to him.

“Perhaps we should take a vote?” Windblade suggested, fixing a nervous stare at Prowl.  “I don’t doubt what you’re saying, but I wasn’t aware that we’d resorted to lobotomizing our potential allies.”

“Perceptor, why don’t you tell us exactly what Soundwave means when he says he’s been lobotomized,” said Prowl, folding his arms in front of him.

A few clicks later, Perceptor had dutifully pulled up another table, this time a list of the bio-engineering procedures they’d implemented upon Soundwave while he was unconscious.  Subtly as he could, Soundwave took a quick picture of the image. With this information, he could research the exact procedures on his own time, and with any luck, find the means to reverse them.

“Remote space bridge access?” Windblade gasped, her eyes widening.  “What exactly does that . . . ?”

“It means,” said Ultra Magnus, “that Soundwave could open a portal from anywhere in the greater ground/space bridge network to anywhere else within the network.  From the deck of the Nemesis, floating in Earth’s orbit, he could open a space bridge portal all the way to Cybertron, without the need to physically connect with the space bridge terminal.  In practice, this meant that he could be anywhere in the galaxy at any time, on a whim.”

“Oh.”  Windblade hunched in on herself, trying her hardest not to look at Soundwave.  Her spark was beating faster, anxious, afraid. It seemed she was, unfortunately, having second thoughts about reinstating Soundwave’s autonomy over his own faculties.  And if his best shot at a potential ally had lost faith, then what hope did he have?

“Whattre _you_ thinkin’, Prime?” said Jazz, the first time he’d spoken all meeting.  “Should we let the wild dog walk around without a leash?” Despite the demeaning metaphor, Jazz didn’t sound much like he cared one way or the other.  Then again, it was Jazz; he’d always been good about hiding his feelings.

Optimus folded his arms over his chest, a defiant gesture that would’ve held more power had he not been staring at the floor.  “I do not believe _anyone_ should be punished for traits they were born into,” he said in a particularly pointed way.  It seemed that Soundwave wasn’t the only one to overhear the weapons tax debate from earlier.  Still, his empathetic statement earned him more than a few scathing stares.

“With all due respect, Prime,” Sky Lynx piped up, “your ideology is lovely, but it just isn’t practical in today’s society.  The war is over, but that doesn’t magically put an end to the conflict. There is still a lot of tension between the Bots and Cons, and a lot of resentment from the Cons in particular – they are the ones who lost, after all.  We’re simply trying to alleviate the tensions in any way we can to prevent any further bloodshed.”

Soundwave released a cloud of feedback, just loud enough to draw attention back to himself and his list, most of which was composed of abuses the Decepticons suffered under the current council.  He scrolled up and down the list to further highlight the issue. _Great job alleviating those tensions!_

“That is really unnecessary,” Sky Lynx huffed.  “You don’t seriously believe that the Council is to blame for all of that?”

Soundwave cocked his head, momentarily taken off guard.  Research and personal experience had all pointed that way, and he doubted there was much Sky Lynx, of all mechs, could say to redeem himself by this point.

Jazz, on the other hand . . .

“Look, I know you remember what the council was like before – lot o’ us do too.  Bunch of shady-ass billionaire dynasties pulling the strings of all Cybertronian society from the shadows.  I know you ain’t inclined to believe a bunch of Autobots and Neutrals, but that’s not what we’re aimin’ for here.  Fact of the matter is, we don’t exactly got a whole lotta power at this point, least of all the kind of power needed to dictate the behavior of every mech on this planet.

“We just came off a forty-thousand-year war.  You were lucky; you gotta sleep through the first two years of reconstruction.  Primus knows, I’m not tryin’a say we’re doin’ a great job here, but it’s not so black and white a issue as you seem to think.”  He slumped forward in his seat, rubbing at his temples – the first time Soundwave had ever seen him drop the cheery façade. “Every action has four or five more serious consequences – all we can do is try an’ choose the least bad outcome.”  Not for the first time, Soundwave wondered why Jazz was here. He was clearly competent, but likewise, he spoke with an undercurrent of distaste for politics as a whole, and even he couldn’t hide the exhaustion that had slipped through. Soundwave could sympathize, even if he hated Jazz as a person.

“What Jazz is saying,” Prowl said, picking up where his partner had left off, “is that we do not have a tight grasp on how the average Cybertronian behaves in his day-to-day life, nor do we particularly want to.  Autobots and Decepticons alike have barely reached the point where they can inhabit the same room without shedding blood. The war still burns hot for a lot of mechs; everyone has lost someone after all – on both sides, and nobody wants to, for instance, invite their conjunx’s murderer to dinner.

“Of course Decepticons and Autobots aren’t living in the same neighborhoods, and of course Autobot business owners are unlikely to hire Decepticon workers, the reverse is true as well, for the record.  And people are going to conduct business in the language they’re accustomed to; we’re not going to force Autobots to learn Decepticon script so they can squeeze it onto their signs in the name of equal opportunity because frankly, all that is going to accomplish is making a lot of people very angry.

“And you act like the Decepticons are innocent here.  They lost. They’re not happy about it. Of course we police their neighborhoods more than those of the Autobots.  And while I won’t deny prejudice on the part of the primarily-Autobot peacekeepers, again, I don’t find their tendency to be more suspicious of Decepticons particularly surprising and, to be fair, Decepticons have always been more prone to violence than Autobots – even you can’t deny that.”

Soundwave couldn’t, though he very much wanted to.  Megatron’s entire philosophy had been built around rule by the mighty; he was a gladiator after all.  But Soundwave was also well aware of the Autobot tendency to see Decepticons as mindless, bloodthirsty war mongers, which was a despicable exaggeration.  He clenched his fists, but let Prowl continue.

“And yes, our monuments pay tribute to Autobot triumphs – of course they do.  Again, like it or not, the Autobots _won_ .  History is written by the victors, and it is no different here.  You can’t possibly tell me that the Decepticons would tolerate permanent, public commemorations of Autobot history had they won, least of all so close to the end of the war?  And I’m _sure_ they would be eager to remind the world of their every blunder during a time when the average mech just wants to celebrate an end to the fighting.  The EN+ debacle comes to mind.”

Soundwave turned his gaze to the floor and flickered off his display.  Again, Prowl wasn’t wrong. Everything he said was, at the very least, understandable, but it all rubbed Soundwave the wrong way.  Even in an Autobot-run world, there had to be a way to get the Decepticons back on equal footing. If they continued on in their current vein for long enough, no doubt Cybertron would end up right back where they’d started.  Maybe there really was no hope for peace.

“Speaking as a Neutral,” said Aileron, who had been silent since Soundwave entered the room, “I am particularly concerned about the fact that there are so many Decepticons still using war time alt modes.  We have a disgruntled minority population with the ability to do some very real damage should it come to that. I don’t want to write off an entire group of people, but at the same time, I’d sleep better at night knowing that the Tank who lives down the street can’t shoot up my apartment building if he’s, say, had a bad day.  It’s not fair to them, no, but it’s also not fair that they have so much inherent power over the rest of us.”

“That is the price of freedom though, isn’t it?” Springer muttered, crossing his arms.  “You wouldn’t be saying such a thing if we started taxing Spacecraft for their potential to interfere with intergalactic trade.”  He fixed the small Shuttle a pointed glare.

“It’s not the same thing!” she protested.

“We’ll take a vote,” said Ultra Magnus, raising his voice, “on the built-in weapons tax.  I believe both sides have had sufficient time to debate the issue. Please consult your monitors and input your decision.”  He paused for a moment, as the room moved to do so, then, consulting his own monitor, said, “Then we are agreed that, for the moment, the tax stays.”

Reactions around the room were mixed – Windblade and Springer drooped in disappointment, Perceptor shook his head, and though he wore a poker face, the lack of celebration in Jazz’s spark made it clear where his vote had lied.  Soundwave took some small solace in the fact that the vote had been close. The council wasn’t made of complete monsters then, and though he hesitated to trust Jazz, the four defeated mechs were probably his best chance at getting his message through.  It wouldn’t be today, however. The council had already refuted his every concern without bothering to actually address any of them. He would have to revisit his research, ready his counter-arguments, and try again.

That was, provided they even truly accepted his presence here in the first place.

“Well then,” said Prowl.  “With that out of the way, I move we bring today’s session to an end, unless there are any objections?”

It was ending already?  Soundwave had only just arrived; they really hadn’t wanted him to come, had they.  But he had to make do with what few scraps the council offered him. So he hadn’t convinced them to change their treatment of the Decepticons as a whole, and they weren’t about to return his bodily autonomy.  He could live with that. There was, however, one issue he would not let slide so easily.

Again, he let out a burst of static to draw the council’s attention.  This time, however, his monitor projected only one word.

“Laser . . . beak?” Windblade read, frowning.  “I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with that term. Or is it a person?”

“It’s his personal drone,” Prowl explained, then winced as a shrill, high-pitched squeal pierced the air, if only for a moment.  Soundwave hadn’t meant to make a noise at all, but he could not have the council doubting Laserbeak’s sentience. No one would allow him access to a personal drone, but for a loved one, they might finally develop a heart.

“Was that really necessary?” Prowl groaned, rubbing at his audial receptor.

“Think he’s tryin’ to make a point,” Jazz laughed, though his frame was still emitting the soft little squeaks of plating grinding against plating.  He was the only one still cringing, even after the rest of the room had recovered. How strange.

“And what point is that?” Elita hissed, “That he can blow out our audials if he gets mad enough?”

“Laserbeak ain’t a drone,” Jazz shrugged.  “That’s it, right?”

Soundwave nodded.  Despite the admission, however, none of the councilmechs seemed particularly moved.  If any of them were responsible for Laserbeak’s current state, then they’d either already known that he was sentient, or they just didn’t care.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Windblade frowned.  “What’s wrong with Laserbeak?”

This time, Soundwave allowed the text on his holographic display to flicker away, replacing it one glyph at a time.

 

  1. __Forcing Political prisoners into stasis lock to use as a bargaining tool.__



 

Windblade brought a thoughtful hand to her lips, as she pondered the issue allowed.  “I was wondering about that one. So this Laserbeak is in stasis lock?”

Soundwave nodded, but Windblade’s ignorance of the affair didn’t fill him with much confidence.  He could hear that she wasn’t lying, so she must not have known. Had any of them?

“And you’re blaming us for it?” Elita One added, narrowing her eyes.  “Why am I not surprised? You really just want to blame us for everything, don’t you?”

Soundwave glanced around the room, listening intently to the sounds emitted by the frames, sparks, and EM fields of each mech in attendance.   _Someone_ had to have known.  Bumblebee had known, and Ratchet too, but neither seemed the type to commit such an atrocity of his own volition.  Laserbeak was still unconscious to earn Soundwave’s complacency, and he couldn’t think of anyone save for the council who would have done such a thing – it wasn’t as though anyone else even knew he was still alive.  Whoever was responsible for Laserbeak’s current state _had_ to be in this room.

Whatever.  It didn’t matter who was to blame.  What mattered was getting Laserbeak back up on his feet.  He didn’t bother with the projector this time. Instead, he searched his database for an appropriate audio clip.

[[ Please help; Laserbeak. ]]

“It – _he_ was seen to by Ratchet, was he not?” Prowl ventured, correcting himself with a wince.  “I don’t know of a doctor more skilled than Ratchet. If he can’t figure out how to fix your dr – your bird, then I’m not sure what you expect us to do about it.”  As far as Soundwave was concerned, it was an admission of guilt. There was no on-the-level reason for the council to leave Laserbeak as he was. In denying to get him help, Prowl was accepting responsibility for Laserbeak’s current state.  Soundwave clenched his fists.

“Still, if you want to keep seeking recovery for him on your time, well, far be it from any of us to stop you.”

This mech was going to suffer for what he’d done.  Perhaps a trip to Luna II was in order – Airachnid would surely love a new toy, provided she was still up there, anyway.

For now, however, he was stuck.  The council wasn’t going to help him, but at least they weren’t actively taking advantage of the situation.  In the meantime, all he could do for Laserbeak was keep searching. Optimus had said he’d bring in Knock Out – he wasn’t a mech known for his skills in neural surgery, but he was competent.  Maybe he could do what Ratchet allegedly could not.

Ultra Magnus was the next to speak.  “I second the motion to adjourn our session for the day.  You may find a copy of the meeting notes on your commlinks.  Prowl, Windblade, and Sky Lynx, please also find your attached follow up instructions.  And as for Soundwave,” he turned, fixing Soundwave with a stern stare. “We’ll be in touch regarding your unveiling to the public and greater role from here on in within the next few days.  Please continue to stand by.”

~~~

Soundwave hadn’t been this angry in a long time, though it had likewise been a long time since he’d been in the vicinity of politics.  Optimus had made a point of dragging him into this mess, but it likewise seemed that Optimus was the only one who wanted him involved. Soundwave didn’t want to be here, the council didn’t want him here, so why was he here?

They arrived back at Soundwave’s apartment with no incident.  Bulkhead had provided his cursory bitter commentary here and there, but Optimus had been silent the whole way back.  Even now, as he lingered in Soundwave’s doorway, Bulkhead long-since dismissed, he wasn’t making any moves to break that silence.  His frame was tense, his gaze was settled on the floor, and even masked as it was by the Matrix, there was no disguising the uneasiness that consumed his EM field.  Soundwave wished he would just go away. The deafening guilt that poured from him wasn’t helping anyone right now.

Soundwave ignored the quiet cacophony as best as he could, moving to Laserbeak’s perch to observe his current condition (tragically unchanged).  The council could play the pity card as much as they liked, but at least one of them had been responsible for this; at least one of them was scheming in the shadows, one of them was willing to subject Soundwave to his worst nightmare in order to attain some mysterious end.  A distant clatter reached his audials, and it took several moments to realize it was the sound of his own plating, rattling against his protoform – terrified, furious, helpless.

“I’m sorry, Soundwave.”

Soundwave stiffened, not bothering to look over his shoulder at the Prime, but listening all the same.  He was still standing uselessly in the door; why hadn’t he left yet?

“I should have been more upfront with you from the beginning.  It has been . . . difficult.” He made to step closer, to better offer his comfort, but then thought better of it, instead choosing to awkwardly remain in place.  Soundwave hated it. He hated it, and he hated Optimus, and he hated everything else about today. And yet, despite the burning hate that emanated from him, that the Prime no doubt could sense, Optimus kept right on lingering.  Apparently, he’d decided that whatever he had to say was more important than Soundwave’s comfort. At least Soundwave could take some small consolation in the fact that the Prime looked equally uncomfortable.

“I have never desired to rule over this world as some supreme deity.  Freedom is what I preach, is what I have always preached, what . . . what Megatron preached before me.  And I acknowledge that my leadership skills are lacking. I’ve never been able to make the difficult decisions; I am aware of my faults.  The people worship me, and I am content to be that beacon of hope, that figurehead they need to inspire them. But I could never do what the council does.

“They’re not bad people.  They try their hardest to do right by Cybertron, and I do not envy the decisions they have to make every day, but . . .”  He trailed off, meeting Soundwave’s blank face, which had turned to fix a bitter stare on him in turn. Soundwave didn’t know where this admission was coming from – if Optimus had been sitting on his guilt for what had transpired in the meeting all afternoon, or if there was another reason for his overwrought apology, but it was doing nothing to alleviate Soundwave’s anger.  Who did this mech think he was?! He’d spent all week building the council up as the enemy, and putting the duty of bringing them down on Soundwave’s shoulders. Now he was siding with them? A low hiss, completely involuntary, began to force its way from Soundwave’s frame, and though the look in his eye implied that Optimus heard it, he paid it no mind.

“They lost their way.  I understand why they do the things they do, but I can see where their current path leads.  In your short time back on Cybertron, you’ve already managed to pick up on many of the problems that plague our society.  But the council has been unwilling to step in and work to fix them, either from grudges, favoritism, fear . . . and I don’t know what to do.”  His frame slumped, as though all of the fight had left him. It was a strange sight. This was Optimus Prime, the warrior who had regularly gone toe-to-toe with Megatron, who had even personally bested Soundwave a handful of times.  He’d never been a hard mech, but he was still a fighter. What in the Pit had happened to him?

“I don’t know how to fix Cybertron.  I don’t know how to prevent us from making the same mistakes all over again.  But because I am Prime, everyone expects me to have all of the answers.” A sharp hiss of air passed through his vents – it nearly sounded like a bitter laugh, but Soundwave doubted that Optimus was even capable of such a cynical show of emotion.  “Honestly, a part of me was hoping that you did.”

This wasn’t right.  Soundwave didn’t want to see Optimus like this.  This was the pathetic image of a mech who’d been broken beyond repair.  He was weak, cowardly, unworthy. And yet, he was the one who had won the war.  If this pitiful excuse for a mech had defeated Megatron, then what did that say about Megatron’s followers?

[[ You’re pathetic, Prime, ]] Megatron’s voice growled from Soundwave’s audio transmitters.

Optimus stiffened, his eyes snapping straight to Soundwave, and for the barest moment, a genuine flicker of hope pulsed through his EM field, though that was quickly overtaken by the Matrix’s eerie hum.    “Soundwave?” There was an almost pleading quality in his voice; in that moment, the Prime had turned himself into an open book for Soundwave’s perusal.

Optimus should have died in the war.  He had spent the last forty thousand years living for Megatron, fighting Megatron, being Megatron’s counterpart in some epic, twisted poem.  In a way, he and Soundwave weren’t so different. But Megatron was dead, and the war was over. Optimus had no one to fight anymore, and with the boogieman vanquished, he had no other way of hoping to ever live up to the weight that the world had thrust upon his shoulders.  

Soundwave, however, was the last remaining vestige of Megatron.  He had his voice, his words, his mission all buried away in many millennia worth of memories and recordings.  True, it struck him as unseemly to use the voice of one so sacred as Megatron when unnecessary, but perhaps this _was_ necessary.  If he could inspire Optimus out of his funk, then just maybe, Optimus would bother standing up to the council, and do something about the way Decepticons were treated in this new world.

Admittedly, the thought of Megatron’s most loyal follower being reduced to Optimus Prime’s life coach filled him with an intense displeasure, but he’d spent much of his life putting up with more humiliation for less reward . . .

He’d think about it, at least.

At last, Optimus finally seemed to come to his senses.  He shook his head and backed towards the door, his raw emotions burying themselves back beneath the blanket that usually obscured them.

“I apologize for that, Soundwave.  You don’t need to deal with my issues as well.”  He let the door slide open behind him, and began backing through.  “I’ll bring in Knock Out tomorrow. After everything I’ve put you through, finding a way to fix Laserbeak is the least I can do.”  He slid through the door, but it didn’t close right away. Optimus lingered in the frame, a thoughtful look in his eye, and there he stayed, just long enough for Soundwave to consider shooing him away with another voice clip.  Ultimately, it proved unnecessary.

There was a soft smile, just barely trying to force its way onto Optimus’s face, albeit with little success.  There was no disguising the smile in his words, however. “Thank you, Soundwave.”

Soundwave didn’t know for what, exactly, he was being thanked, but he had no time to respond before the door slid shut, and Optimus traipsed off down the hall, leaving Soundwave alone with Laserbeak and his own thoughts.

It was fine by Soundwave.  There was much to think about.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard one. Hopefully I didn't mix things up too much.


	6. Firewall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock Out arrives to investigate Laserbeak's continued unconsciousness; the results are not what Soundwave expected.

Bumblebee had come by a few hours after Optimus left, carrying a comically tall stack of datapads in his arms, and even more in his subspace.  By the same time the next day, Soundwave had scoured through each and every one of them. They were informative, no doubt hand-picked by the Prime himself to scratch Soundwave’s ever-persistent itch for knowledge, but no amount of census data, permit applications, receipts, or even news articles could compare to first-hand intel.

He needed to hear for himself what the people were saying, what the average Autobot thought of the Decepticons, and vice versa.  The council had claimed they had no control over the actions of the populace at large, but Soundwave was not so pessimistic. People were not difficult to influence, but he couldn’t do so without knowing about current trends, opinions, and actions.  Was the average Autobot really so keen to strip the personhood from their Decepticon neighbors? And if so, what would it take to change their minds?

For now, Soundwave was left in the dark, much to his continued frustration.  The best he could do was stand perfectly still in the center of the room, boost power to his audial receptors, and try to listen in on Bumblebee above him, and Bulkhead below, which he had been working at almost as long as he’d been sifting through the datapads.  The soundproofing in these luxury apartments was good, but not too good to keep Soundwave out.

Bumblebee was in and out of his apartment most of the day, which was pretty typical for him on the whole, though Soundwave doubted that he spent much of his away time on business, or if he did, his business was the sort that involved making a lot of friends (Soundwave wouldn’t have been surprised).  When he came home tonight, as usually, he wasn’t alone – a handful of fellow Autobots and single neutral accompanied him, but notably, no Decepticons.

They were a noisy lot, chatting about all manner of issues, but not once did anyone bring up politics.  Sure, they drank, sang, played games, but there was an almost suspicious lack of any content outside of the superficial.  Any time conversation so much as skirted the vicinity of the war, or even current events, Bumblebee was quick to change the subject.  Whether he was doing so under orders, or because he legitimately didn’t want the painful reminder ruining the happiness he’d worked so hard to build, however, was unclear to Soundwave.  He may have been able to hear the noise from the floor above, but at this distance, motive and emotion were beyond him.

From his brief time listening in, Soundwave pegged his upstairs neighbor as a social butterfly, always on the lookout for new friends, and annoyingly devoted to making said friends happy at any cost.  The mech was a bit too chipper for Soundwave’s liking, but he wasn’t a terrible person at least, and left Soundwave with the impression that there were a lot of mechs out there looking to put the forty thousand years of fighting behind them, even if they didn’t quite know how.

But then there was Bulkhead.

Bulkhead didn’t make friends half so easily as Bumblebee (and as far as Soundwave was concerned, it wasn’t hard to see why), but from what Soundwave had gathered, his downstairs neighbor still had a healthy social life, provided healthy was the right word for it.  While he’d heard Bumblebee with what seemed to be a new handful of bots come in every night that week, Bulkhead brought friends home more irregularly, and when he did, it was always the same small group, the very group he’d spent most of the war serving with: the Wreckers.

It was a dirty word amongst the Decepticon grunts – a team notorious for its efficiency, matched only by its brutality.  They were widely regarded as a bunch of mindless thugs, capable of taking pleasure only in acts of violence. Hearing them now, however, Soundwave found himself reminded of the average Decepticon gladiator or even miner, that was to say, the impression spread by propaganda was understandable, if not entirely accurate.

They laughed and joked like Bumblebee’s friends, they sang and drank and played games like Bumblebee’s friends, but unlike Bumblebee’s friends, there was no pretending that the war had never happened.  In fact, there was almost a sense of reverence around it – most of these mechs were self-aware enough to realize they could never fully slide into a civilian life. The war was their glory days, uncomfortable a notion as that was.

Of course, they were also much more vocally anti-Con than Bumblebee’s friends too.  In the short time he’d been listening, Soundwave had gotten three personal accounts of wartime atrocities that would have seen a post-war Decepticon executed for ‘crimes against the species.’  It was enough to make him sick, though he knew it was pointless to protest. No doubt, the Wreckers were not alone in their sentiment.

The brief glimpse at the attitudes of a handful of Autobots and one neutral wasn’t particularly enlightening, but it was more than he’d had before, at least.  Besides, listening to his neighbors’ antics helped keep his mind off of more pressing issues. He spared a glance at Laserbeak, still unconscious on his perch.  Knock Out would be coming within the hour to give him a look-over, and Soundwave was terrified. What if he found out what was wrong? Or worse, what if he didn’t?

_ “That line of thinking will get you nowhere, Soundwave,” _ Megatron’s ghost mused.   _ “It’s better not to dwell on it.  What happens to Laserbeak is beyond our control right now.” _

Soundwave ignored the unwanted advice and crossed the room to stand by the perch.  Reaching out with a cable, he prodded at the cushion Laserbeak rested on, checking the temperature, the firmness, determining whether there were any further adjustments he could make for added comfort.  At his back, Megatron huffed, rolling his optics.

_ “You’ve readjusted the settings twenty-three times since last night, Soundwave.  I think it’s safe to assume that Laserbeak is comfortable.” _

In protest, Soundwave twisted a few dials, making the surface a tenth of a degree cooler, and the slightest bit softer.

_ “You’re wasting your time, Soundwave.  None of this will make Laserbeak recover any faster.  You’re simply distracting yourself from the truth.” _

This time, Soundwave turned to face the remnant of his leader, his light, his pillar of strength.  Megatron, however, remained just out of sight. Infuriating.

_ “Accept it, Soundwave,”  _ Megatron’s voice came anew, as a whisper against his audial. _  “They’re trying to keep you distracted, because they know that Laserbeak is your weakness.  You’re not useful to the cause, not like this.” _

That was the last straw!  Soundwave whirled around, catching the barest glimpse of silver plating before Megatron was gone again.  But even though he could not be seen, Soundwave knew he was still listening.

_ “Observation: accurate.  However, result of ‘supporting the cause’: Soundwave’s current state.  Result of ‘supporting the cause’ – Frenzy: offline; Buzzsaw: offline; Rumble: offline; Ravage: offline; Megatron: offline; Starscream: missing; Decepticons: defeated; Laserbeak: injured.  ‘Supporting the cause’: irrelevant. Laserbeak’s health: priority one.” _

__ Megatron did not reply, nor could Soundwave feel that strong, sturdy presence at his back anymore.  He’d meant every word he’d wielded – he always did, but somehow, without even the barest remnant of Megatron’s presence to keep him company, the world felt bigger, more terrifying than ever before.  He didn’t want to face it alone, he couldn’t. There was still so much expected of him, so much he could never hope to live up to, and he’d gone and chased off the only thing that could bring him sanity in such a trying time.

He shouldn’t have said anything, even if the words had only been uttered in his head.  There was a reason he’d taken a vow of silence, after all.

Mercifully, he wasn’t left to linger in his guilt for long.  Two pairs of footsteps approached from the outside, one heavy and slow, those of some ancient being, too wise to allow a moment of existence to pass him by without reveling in it.  The other was lighter, and marginally faster, though it maintained a casual gait. Soundwave opened the door to let Optimus and Knock Out in before they’d even had time to comm him.

“Hello, Soundwave,” said Optimus, polite as ever, but there was something in his eyes, a look that communicated an elevated level of concern.  Soundwave half-expected some unwanted platitude form the Prime, some form of consolation for sins he had no way of knowing about. Fortunately, Knock Out beat him to it.

“Well well, look who managed to find his way out of the Shadowzone!  I always knew you could do it.” Soundwave would have taken the words as an insult, had he not been able to hear the fearful pulse of Knock Out’s spark, the light clatter of plating that trembled in a barely-suppressed fear.  The medic wasn’t known for his bravery, but Soundwave had never noticed such fear from him in the past, at least none with Soundwave as the cause.

Then again . . .

“And it really has been a while, hasn’t it?” he continued, his words growing the slightest bit faster.  “What would you say, Optimus? Two, three years?”

“It has been two years,” Optimus confirmed, a confused quirk to his optic ridge.

“Ah yes!  Two years.  Much can change in two years, you know!  Well, of course  _ you _ do.  You’re getting to see it all first hand, aren’t you?”  He paused, frowning. “Or  _ are  _ you?”  He cast a quick glance around the barren apartment, so much like an oversized prison cell.  “Yeesh, and I thought  _ I _ had it bad.”  All at once he tensed, though the exact reasoning was unclear to Soundwave.  The moment passed quickly enough, and Knock Out continued his nervous yammering as though he hadn’t said anything at all.

“Anyway, there really have been a lot of changes – I imagine it takes a lot of energy just keeping up with current . . . relationships, politics, that sort of thing.”

Soundwave cocked his head.  He had a hunch he knew what Knock Out was getting at, but this roundabout way of getting there was bizarre to behold.

“Ah right.”  His discomfort was growing ever-more apparent, no matter how hard he tried to hide it with a smile.  “So anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is, with all of this new information to keep up with, a tiny, insignificant betrayal in the name of self-preservation committed two years ago really isn’t high on your list of priorities, am I right?”  He was trying so hard to sound like his normal, confident self, but the flickering of his spark gave him away. So this was what he was worried about.

He wasn’t wrong.  Knock Out defecting in the last minutes of the war wasn’t something Soundwave particularly cared about at the moment.  Generally speaking, he didn’t give much thought to the medic at all, and with the Decepticons in their current state, he couldn’t exactly stay mad at  _ one _ for trying to earn a better life for himself.  Not that it sounded like Knock Out was doing all that great in his own right, given what he’d said earlier.

[[ Isn’t high on; list of priorities, ]] Soundwave echoed back, pausing before turning to look at Laserbeak.  There were so many more things to care about right now than loyalty to a long-dead cause.

“Well then,” Knock Out grinned, his confidence slowly growing, “I’m glad we’ve gotten that out of the way.”  He followed Soundwave’s gaze to Laserbeak’s unmoving form, looking to Soundwave for some sort of permission before daring to get close to the precious little one.  When Soundwave gave him no acknowledgement after several awkward moments of staring, however, he dared step closer, making a point of raising his voice as he did so.

“So Optimus tells me that Laserbeak is my patient today.  What exactly, is wrong with him?” He was close enough to touch the Symbiont now, but still he refrained, as though afraid that Soundwave would strike at a moment’s notice.

It was Optimus to answer.  “According to Ratchet, Laserbeak was suffering the effects of extreme malnutrition from his extended stay in the Shadowzone, which, as a Minicon, his frame was less capable of recovering from than Soundwave’s.  Ratchet put him into medically-induced stasis to better assist in his recovery, but even he agrees that the stasis has lasted far longer than it should have. 

“Soundwave suspects that the council have done something to prevent Laserbeak from waking up, and I worry that such a theory is not implausible, given the current political climate and general perception of Soundwave.

“He requested that you specifically, come and check up on Laserbeak, to see if there is any way of assisting in his recovery.  He trusts you, at least more than any Autobot medic. Please, do whatever you can to help.”

“You really like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” Knock Out observed with a coy smirk.  “’Not implausible?’ You don’t have to dance around the issue, Prime. Just say that you think the council are a bunch of shady blackmailers.  We all know you’re thinking it.”

“That is not what I am thinking,” Optimus said, Knock Out’s taunts going either straight over his head, or beneath his dignity.  The direct nature of it was enough to catch Knock Out off guard. He fumbled over his words for a moment before finally regathering himself.

“Of course, my mistake” he gave a forced smile, the same assurance of begrudging servitude he used to fix on Megatron himself.  Then, he turned his attention back to Soundwave. “So you want a thorough check-up for Laserbeak. Not to be  _ that _ guy, but you can pay for this, right?”

Soundwave hadn’t considered it.  It had been a long time since he’d had to worry about his personal finances.  Chances were he had none to speak of at the moment. He cast a glance at Optimus.

“He can.”

Knock Out let his eyes shift between the two, a mischievous grin forming on his face all the while.  “I see,” he said, drawing out the word. “Well, in that case, I’ll make sure to be  _ very _ thorough.”  Somehow, it sounded like a threat when coming from him, but his spark gave no indication of ill intent.  “But I do warn you, it’s not going to be quick. You may want to grab a cube and find a nice place to settle down for a while.  Not that there’s much in the way of entertainment around here. Par for the course then.”

Soundwave ignored the taunts and remained steadfast in front of the small doctor.  Even if there had been something interesting for him to do, he wasn’t going to leave Laserbeak alone.  Not now. 

“Suit yourself then,” Knock Out said after a moment, rolling his eyes.  “Just – go stand over there,” he pointed to a nearby wall. “Make sure you don’t get in the way.  And keep quiet,” he paused, awareness of just what he’d ordered dawning on him. “Well, I supposed I don’t have to worry about that, but I don’t want any distractions.  Do we have a deal?”

Soundwave gave no confirmation, but did as he was told anyway, stalking across the room to stand by the indicated wall.  It was a strategic position to put him in on Knock Out’s part; the doctor was between Soundwave’s line of sight and Laserbeak, making it difficult to watch him work.  Soundwave could still listen, however, to the hum of scanners, the sliding of panels, the whirr of equipment. It was all pretty standard, and yet, Soundwave couldn’t help but be nervous.

He must have been visibly projecting his anxiety, as within minutes, Optimus had joined him, silently sliding up to his side, projecting the same serenity that he always did.  There were no words uttered from the Prime, nor any other attempts to communicate, and that was fine by Soundwave. Words were quite overrated; nothing Optimus could say would quell the trembling of his spark, ease the icy chill to his fuel lines, the hollowness of his tanks.  But much to Soundwave’s surprise, he found himself appreciating that mighty, stoic presence. There was something about the Prime, something that made him feel as though everything would work out all right, even if he knew cognitively that there were no guarantees.

Hours passed – nine, twelve, sixteen, with Soundwave and Optimus waiting in silence all the while, but finally, after almost a full day of working, Knock Out stepped back, replacing his tools in his subspace.  There was a frown on his face, and confusion flickering in his EM field. Soundwave didn’t like what that implied.

“So, it looks like we’re all done here.  I’ve run every test I can think to run, scoured every nook and cranny of Laserbeak’s frame, every line of functional code, and . . . ah, you’re probably not going to like the results.”

Soundwave stood up straight, and marched over, not sure yet how to respond.  Knock Out gave a noticeable cringe at Soundwave’s approach, but recovered quickly enough. 

“So it would seem like everything is operating as normal, for Laserbeak, at least.”  He frowned, casting a glance back at that tiny, unmoving frame. “I can’t say I understand.  By all rights, he should be up and about – then again, his code was corrupted to begin with, so it’s a little hard to –”

Soundwave jerked forward, ignoring the way Knock Out flinched away again, and let his own findings flicker across his visor, particularly the firewall that continued to block him from accessing his Symbiont’s deeper code.  Much to his dread, Knock Out took the revelation in stride.

“Yes, I did notice that.  It’s the sort of thing a medic would put in place, probably Ratchet – a way of limiting sensory inputs as a means to prevent overloading a recovering processor.  Ordinarily, it’s the sort of thing that destroys itself as the host’s condition improves. It ought to have gone away by now, but for whatever reason, Laserbeak hasn’t gotten any better, so it’s still stuck there.  I can remove it if you want, but I can’t imagine it will do much good.”

Soundwave nodded, earning him a shrug from the doctor, who turned back to Laserbeak, and jacked back in.  It had taken Soundwave an entire evening to get absolutely nowhere with that code; Knock Out deactivated it within seconds.  Grateful as he was, he couldn’t help but feel jealous; this was supposed to be his area of expertise, and he’d been rendered all but useless.  Of course it stung.

As Knock Out had warned, Laserbeak did not move, even after the firewall’s deactivation.  Still, he didn’t disconnect from his patient right away. His spark pulsed a little faster, to the tune of curiosity.  Soundwave, in turn, sat up a little straighter, eager to know what had changed.

“Huh, that’s odd.”

[[ That’s odd, ]] Soundwave repeated, running short on ways to beg the question with Knock Out’s back turned.

“I’m registering strong brainwave activity,” Knock Out observed.  “But it’s a little – ah, let’s say intense – compared to what Laserbeak typically exhibits, at least.  It’s almost like he’s someone else.”

Knock Out didn’t seem particularly alarmed, but for Soundwave, the statement was terrifying.  If something truly was wrong with Laserbeak, the timing of it would leave Soundwave to blame for it.  Had he, in his haste, ordered the demise of the only thing in this universe that he still loved?

“Knock Out,” said Optimus, in that calming, sonorous voice of his.  Soundwave gave a little start; in his panic, he’d actually forgotten that the Prime was still here.  He hated how sloppy he’d become. “Is Laserbeak in any danger?”

“Hmm.  Physically, no,” he said, frowning.  “But I’ve never seen anything like this before.  Then again, Laserbeak  _ is _ a strange case.  I can put the firewall back up, if it will make you feel better,” he added, eyeing Soundwave.

It took far too long to provide an answer.  He’d been fighting all week to get rid of the damned thing, fighting to win some kind of change in Laserbeak’s state, and he’d achieved it.  Still, triumphant as it should have been, Soundwave feared that whatever was happening would take a toll on his Symbiont. It was better to play it safe; at least he knew that the firewall kept Laserbeak stable.  After a long pause, he gave the barest hint of a nod; had Knock Out been a stranger, he likely wouldn’t have noticed.

“Very well then.  Your wish is my command.”  A few minutes more saw the firewall back in place, and after a cursory scan, to make sure all was back to normal, he withdrew his medical cable and backed away.  “Well then, my . . . councillor,” Soundwave didn’t like how much sass he’d injected into the word, but let it slide. Knock Out was the only one who’d bothered to help Laserbeak thus far; Soundwave had to show gratitude somehow.  “For the moment, there’s nothing we can do for our patient, save for what you’ve been doing already, I’d imagine. Keep him fueled and comfortable, the works. Anyway, I’ll head out to the labs; see if I can’t get a second opinion; do a little research.  Give me a week to get up to speed, and I can come back for a follow up visit. Does that sound doable?”

As far as Soundwave was concerned, it didn’t, but it was the best option he had for the moment.  Again, he offered a tiny nod.

“Wonderful.”  Knock Out sauntered by, giving Soundwave a wider berth than was necessary.  This time, his target was Optimus. “And as for payment . . . ?”

“Of course.  I have already transferred it to your account.”

Knock Out paused, presumably to confirm.  Then he was back on his path to the door. “Perfect.  Your generosity is appreciated, oh great Prime.” He backed up the rest of the way, taking one last moment to shoot off a, “I’ll be in touch,” before disappearing through the frame and back into the hall.  Now it was Optimus and Soundwave, and Laserbeak, of course.

Soundwave tried to ignore the Prime, tried to focus on his sleeping Symbiont.  Knock Out had said to keep him comfortable. Maybe the cushion could stand to be a little warmer?  And Laserbeak always had liked the sun; why was the perch so far from the window? He should have realized sooner; it had to be moved!

“Soundwave?”

Carefully, Soundwave scooped Laserbeak up into his cables, and began sliding the perch across the floor, stopping only once he’d hit the space just under the small window.  There was no light now, not so late in the evening, which made it difficult to tell where exactly to set the perch for maximum sunlight. And what if it was too bright? Or too hot?  He shouldn’t have moved it at all!

“Soundwave,” Optimus said again, this time earning an empty glance.  Why was he still here?

“I’m sorry, I know this can’t be easy for you, but if there’s anything I can do to help, anything at all, don’t be afraid to ask.  If it is in my power, I will see it done.”

His first instinct was to brush off the request, to turn his back on Optimus and keep fussing with the perch - he even managed to complete the first step in the plan, but once his optics were back on that sad, empty hunk of metal, the absurdity of the situation hit him.  Megatron had been right; he really was useless with Laserbeak incapacitated as he was. It was shameful, degrading, a far cry from the mech he used to be. Carefully, he set Laserbeak back in the middle of his carefully-maintained nest, then turned away. Now that he thought of it, there was something Optimus could do.  He moved in close, enough so that Optimus could easily read the contents of his now-lit visor.

_ Request:  Holocaster; Access to datanet; First-Hand information from ordinary Cybertronians.  Query: Achievable? _

Optimus frowned, reading over the short list.  “I think it can be done. The council may not like it, but denying you access to the outside world will do more harm than good in the long run.  I will talk to Ultra Magnus.” He stood up straighter and backed towards the door. “Will that be everything you require for the moment?”

Soundwave nodded.

“Then I am on it.  I will be away for the next three days; please inform Bumblebee if there is anything you need in the meantime.  I will get your request in before I leave. Thank you for your patience.” He gave a quick nod of his head, then slipped through the door.  Somehow, in the absence of his long-time enemy, Soundwave felt worse than before.

He glanced over his shoulder, back at Laserbeak’s unmoving frame; his own began to shake.  It had been easier thinking the council had installed some sort of malicious software in Laserbeak’s head, but knowing the truth, or more accurately, not knowing anything at all was agonizing.  He felt as though sharp claws had lodged themselves into his spark, rending a path downward, exacerbating the hole that had long been left within. It was all too much.

“ _ Soundwave.” _

And now Megatron was here to make everything worse.  He couldn’t keep doing this, couldn’t keep clinging to the ghost of a dead mech.  It hurt too much.

_ “Soundwave, I’m sorry for what I said.  I know how much Laserbeak means to you.”   _ Strong arms wrapped themselves around Soundwave’s frame, pulling him close to that impossible fantasy, but for the moment, Soundwave was content to lose himself.  He buried his face in the hollow memory of Megatron’s broad chest, calmed himself with the self-assured thrum of that spark that rang in his audial receptors even now.   _ “I promise you, everything will be alright.  You’re safe, Soundwave. And Laserbeak will be too.  You’ve both survived worse than this; everything will be alright.” _

Soundwave didn’t care that it was all a lie, that Megatron wasn’t real and that his imagined words were meaningless platitudes.  He buried himself in that memory, let its words comfort him, its arms calm him, its presence bring him peace. For now, it was the best he could hope for.


	7. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of Soundwave's revelation to the people of Cybertron fast approaches, but first, he has a little time to get a feel for life on the ground.

Soundwave didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep; it had certainly been unintentional, as he found himself stirring on the hard floor at the base of Laserbeak’s perch.  Someone was knocking on the door – three someones, to be precise. Three very chatty someones, by the names of Bumblebee, Bulkhead, and oddly enough, Jazz.

“Sounders, I know you’re in there.  Don’t leave your guests all alone in the middle of the hall,” Jazz called sweetly from the other side.  Oh, how he would have liked to do just that, but even he could acknowledge that getting on the wrong side of a councilor was not in his best interest right now, especially a councilor as skilled at sabotage as Jazz.  Slowly, he crawled back to his feet, wincing as misaligned struts popped themselves back into place. How had he wound up on the floor, and more importantly, how had he not noticed? He really must have been exhausted.

Once presentable, he didn’t bother closing the distance between himself and the door, instead letting his cables do the work.  The look on Bulkhead’s face when the door slid open to find him face-to-face with a floating data cable was priceless, though in his surprise, he lost his hold on his corner of the holocaster terminal he’d been carrying; Soundwave only just managed to keep it from hitting the floor.

“Primus, can’t you use your hands like a normal person?” Bulkhead snapped, hastily reclaiming his hold on the heavy equipment.  Soundwave cocked his head, feigning ignorance, but withdrew his cable nonetheless. Bulkhead took that as his cue to enter, with Jazz at the other end of the delicate terminal that was to be Soundwave’s window to the outside world.  Bumblebee followed behind, carrying enough cables that he may as well be wearing them, like humans did with their strange little textiles.

“Where you want this?” Jazz asked, but he gave Soundwave no time to reply.  “Along this wall? Good, me too. C’mon Bulkhead, easy now. Not all of us can be as brawny as you.”  It was as though Soundwave had vanished altogether – Jazz and Bulkhead began the process of setting up the holocaster, with Bumblebee offering cables to help, and, presumably due to their Autobot nature, it was only so long before the bantering began.

“You sure this is a good idea, Jazz?” Bulkhead grumbled.  “This is Soundwave, we’re talking about – Soundwave the Decepticon spymaster, the mechanical marvel, the bane of our existence.  If Optimus hadn’t insisted, you can bet your aft that I’d sooner die than grant this guy access to any sort of exploitable tech. Who knows what sort of underground messages he’ll send out.”

Jazz shrugged.  “I mean, there’s only so much even he can do – not with that firewall in his head.  Right now his brain module is operating more or less like an ordinary Cybertronian’s ought to, at least according to Perceptor – I ain’t got no clue, to be honest.”  He laughed, a bitter sound. “Though he didn’t get the ‘most dangerous Con’ award twenty thousand years in a row for nothing. What do I know? Seems to me if he’s determined enough, a little firewall’s not gonna stop ‘im.”

“Soundwave’s gonna be on the council,” Bumblebee noted, a slight tremble in his voice.  “He needs to know what’s going on; he’s not gonna be able to do his job if he doesn’t.”

“No argument from me there,” Jazz shrugged, standing up straight and dusting his hands off.

It was all so very demeaning.  He was standing right there! And yet here they were, talking about whether or not he should be allowed access to his own brain module, as though he didn’t deserve a say in the matter.  Such behavior was common for Autobots in his experience, but it never ceased to be grating. Oh how he would have loved to turn the tables on them – to take Jazz’s audials, Bulkhead’s size, Bumblebee’s voice (again) – show them how it felt to have an integral part of themselves locked away.

He refrained, though the temptation was growing hard to resist.  He could only play the docile Decepticon for so long before he reached the end of even his patience.

“So Sounders, how’s it hangin’ over here?”  While Bulkhead and Bumblebee were still across the room, prying off floorboards and hooking up cables, Jazz had decided that Soundwave was preferable company.  He’d sidled right up to him, a dopey grin on his face, and something ominous in his EM field. 

Soundwave cast him a brief glance before returning his attention to the action along the wall.  He wasn’t ignoring Jazz; to do so would have been profoundly stupid, but he had no other means of responding to the comment – none that he cared to pursue, at least.  For his part, Jazz was at least perceptive enough to get the point.

“So, I think we should clear the air between us.  Sound good?”

Soundwave offered no response, though it was unlikely that Jazz expected one.

“Right, glad we got that outta the way.  Now, lemme start off by saying that personally, I hate you – unfathomably.”  That one earned him another glance. Jazz continued on, unscathed. “I think you’re a strutless coward who coulda put an end to the war eons ago, if you’d ever found the bearings to stand up to all the demented slag Megatron was cooking up.  I think you’re  _ still _ trying to stubbornly convince yourself that you were always in the right – even though we all know that the Decepticons even a couple hundred years into the war weren’t the same as the Decepticons at the very start.  And I blame you personally, for being part of the glue that held that dysfunctional group of psychopaths together as long as you did.

“That being said, this isn’t about me, or what I feel.”

Soundwave snorted and turned away again.  Who was Jazz to talk? Megatron may have lost his mind ages ago, but it wasn’t as though the Autobots were without sin.  And if they’d wanted the war to end so badly, they always could have surrendered themselves. He shook off any other doubts lingering in his mind; Jazz couldn’t be right.  If he was, then Soundwave was wrong, and if Soundwave was wrong . . .

His gaze unconsciously shifted to Laserbeak, still asleep on his perch.  Again, Jazz no doubt noticed, though he thankfully drew no attention to Soundwave’s misstep.

“What I’m trying to say is, as far as the council is concerned, I got your back.”

That one earned a startled glance.  After the diatribe, Soundwave hadn’t been expecting much in the way of support.

“Look, if the two of us got anything in common, it’s that we were both intimately familiar with how the old senate was run.  No one wants to go back to the way things were before, but I don’t think most mechs realize just how bad things got back there.  It’s my greatest fear, y’know? Ending up right back where we were when this all began – a corrupt senate ruling over a disconnected population; the caste system; the oppressed masses – it’ll be like everything we fought for, everything that we lost in these past forty thousand years will’ve been for nothing.  I can’t think of anything worse.” He was usually so collected, but Jazz’s spark gave a sickly stutter, and his torso plating tensed. It seemed he really was being genuine, a notion that was difficult for Soundwave to process from a mech known for his deceit.

“I don’t think that you can fix everything – Pit, I don’t think there  _ is _ a way to fix everything, not with our history, but anyone with eyes can see what’s happening with the Cons right now, and anyone with two wits can see the parallels between now and back then.  So long as our world is set up to force one group into the the bottom rung of the ladder, there ain’t never gonna be peace, and I think you get that. Primus knows, that’s why Optimus brought you in.

“Whatever you think needs to be done – I may not agree, but I’ll set aside my own prejudices just this once, because  _ someone’s _ gotta stand up to the status quo.  Only way we’re gonna put an end to this cycle of hate, least that’s what I think.  Can’t speak for the others.”

Soundwave didn’t like the notion of being indebted towards a mech like Jazz, but he couldn’t deny his gratitude, and even the blunt honesty was kind of nice.  He and Jazz were never going to be friends, but Jazz seemed to understand him, at least a little. He knew what was important, and was willing to make sacrifices for it, and that, Soundwave could admire.  

Slowly, he let his gaze slide away, but though he faced Bulkhead and Bumblebee once again, his mind was elsewhere.  How could he use this new ally to his advantage?

“That being said,” Jazz began, pulling Soundwave from his scheming, “I think I should probably warn you.  You ain’t been out there on the street yet, so you wouldn’t know, but . . . well, the way things are right now, even once you’re out in public, even if you’re fighting for them from your new position on the council, there gonna be a lotta Cons out there who ain’t gonna be appreciative.  You think what you’ve been through til now is hard? Just wait and see what comes next.”

Soundwave’s gaze drifted lower as he contemplated the warning.  Was the council planning something nefarious, or was the warning far more personal?  He could easily see how allying himself with the source of the oppression might not go over well with his old allies.  On the other hand, he was hardly a stranger to being despised by those in his own faction. And if it  _ was _ some council scheme, he’d do what he could to mollify it.  At least he had one person he could count on for help in that regard.

“Jazz, what’re you doin’ over there?” Bumblebee called out.  “Shirking your duties? C’mon, these cables aren’t gonna set themselves up!”

“Alright, alright,  You caught me,” Jazz laughed.  He offered Soundwave a lax smile and a whispered a date in his audial, “D8L6S2, at the 15 th cycle exactly, we’re all gathering for your big reveal party on the front steps of the New Oratory.  See you there. And remember to take care of yourself buddy; Cybertron’s depending on it,” before sauntering off to help Bulkhead and Bumblebee install the holocaster and data terminals.  Despite the nature of the command, Soundwave felt worse for hearing it.

How was he supposed to manage all of this?

~~~

Soundwave was enjoying his new toys very much.  Even locked away in a tower as he was, remote access to the outside world gave him a little taste of the freedom he’d been craving for so long.  Better yet, he could now distract himself from the gloomy atmosphere of the apartment, and get work done at the same time. What wasn’t to love?

Typically, he would have used the holocaster to access assorted news broadcasts, but modern Cybertron was still in its infancy, and thus, there was only one station to choose from at the moment, a fact that Soundwave wished he’d realized sooner.  Currently, it was playing some trite Camien-made drama, which Soundwave was content to let run in the background – any exposure to culture was worthwhile, even if it couldn’t tell him as much as he would have liked to know.

In the meantime, he’d set up three more holo-displays to explore the crude datanet Cybertron had reestablished – derived from the Intergalactic-All-Autobot-Communications-Center, with some significant Camien input.  The former Decepticon systems had either been disabled, or had their access barred to Soundwave when the Autobots decided to interfere with his head. In his opinion, they’d had the far more intuitive, graceful system, but he’d take what he could get for now.   In his communications officer days, he would have had even more programs running on his internal display, but that particular convenience had likewise been a casualty of Autobot intervention. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t busy, however.

The first projection was operating as a news hub, where Soundwave had opened up a handful of articles and editorials, to give them a peruse.  There was little here that hadn’t been in the information Optimus had already provided, but occasionally he’d get a gem – the owner of Paints, Appliques, and More!, lamenting his newly-acquired graffiti courtesy of Decepticon ‘hooligans;’ a local busybody complaining about panhandlers on the main roads; blowback around a homeless shelter that primarily served Decepticons being established in District 2, which apparently violated zoning protocol.  To his surprise, he even managed to find an editorial published by a Decepticon (Blast Off, oddly enough), which painted a picture of their faction as some sort of horrific, tyrannical regime, which had manipulated most of its participants into joining the cause, and had subsequently treated them like garbage. It was a complete condemnation of the Decepticon cause, and the sort of pandering that could have only been concocted by the Combaticons (no doubt Onslaught had devised this particular scheme).  Such heresies should have been subject to extreme punishment, and would have been in the past. But there was no one in this new world who could convince Cybertron as a whole that Decepticons were worth having around, let alone that their glorious image was one in need of defending. It wasn’t hard to see why Onslaught and his cronies were eager to distance themselves from the cause; anyone with half a brain would have been.

On the second projection, he had a handful of personal blogs and forums open, all run by Autobots or neutrals.  While their perspectives were more limited than the news, reading through the first twenty or so was beginning to give him a better idea as to what life was like on the ground.  And he was far from done sorting through the offerings. Now that the war was over, mechs were finding themselves with all sorts of leisure time, and in such a tumultuous environment, everybody had an opinion.  Many were trite.

_ ::  _ The Camien Conjunx _ is the best work of art our species has ever produced!  The color design! The sets! The writing! Aquajet x Merry Subterra is endgame; I don’t make the rules.  Look at the literal sparks that fly every time their optical sensors meet! I love my babbies!! :: _

_ :: Adding a pinch of magnesium to your morning cube of energon will give you the added boost you need to get through the day, and it tastes good to boot!  5/5 stars. *Warning: do not put this in energon with a grade of 90 or more.  _ The Taste of Cybertron _ cannot be held responsible for any melted fuel lines in the event of misuse. :: _

_ :: Today I visited the ruins of Old Altihex station.  It’s a very sobering sight. Imagine: forty thousand years ago, it was a beacon of scientific progression and culture – a station locked in orbit just above Mt. Altima, now a barren heap of rust and ruin, overrun by dwellers and energon eaters.  Swing by for a little bit of culture, but be careful. This one is only for the most seasoned of adventurers. :: _

But others were a little more direct in their societal commentary.

_ :: Anyone else feel that the enforcers are a little  _ too _ eager to enforce the law?  I can’t even go out in the night cycle to grab a pick-me-up from the corner store without getting pulled over.  Guess that’s what you get when you hire soldiers to keep the peace. :: _

_ ::A pair of Cons came into the shop I work at today.  I know things are hard for a lot of them right now, so I try to keep an open mind, but these two mechs were so rude!  They just kept lumbering around, knocking products off the shelves, and shouting at each other. I was so scared, I almost called the enforcers, but thankfully there was an old Autobot in there who told ‘em off, and they left without any further trouble.  I’m worried that we made ‘em mad though. What are the odds they’ll come back and burn the store to the ground? :: _

_ :: I’m thinking about changing my paint job.  Like, okay – I get that I’m an odd color for an Autobot – your primary color is a dark blue, folks are gonna make assumptions, but I fought for our freedom for millennia – risked my aft behind enemy lines, and not one of my buddies had a problem with it – the Prime himself even gave me a commendation for my work!  Now though, I get glares from total strangers just walking the street! I go to distilleries and get inferior service, and folks keep calling the enforcers on me. This is the color scheme I was forged with, but I think I might be better off these days with something a little brighter. What do you think? :: _

It was all very informative, if not disheartening, but it was the chat groups that held most of his attention.  Even though they were mostly focused on the day-to-day minutiae, it was the easiest way to see just how much people really thought about the conflict.  As it turned out, most seemed more interested in whatever was playing on the holocaster.

_ << Primus below!  Did you guys see the way Aquajet just took down Hotflash?  Oh man, I’ve been waiting for that showdown all year!>> _

Soundwave spared a glance at the holocaster where a handsome, teal Hydroplane stared sadly at the pretty, completely-unrealistic corpse of a fiery-colored Motorcycle; a trickle of lubricant streamed from his optic.  As much as Soundwave hated to admit it, the program was strangely engrossing. Hotflash hadn’t deserved to die. He’d done some shady misdeeds for the purpose of curing the disease that was causing his spark to burn up, but Aquajet was no saint either.

_ <<I feel kinda bad for him.  Hotflash wasn’t evil, he was just afraid of dying.  Besides, it’s not like Aquajet never did anything bad himself.>> _  Whoever this mech was, Soundwave decided he liked them.

_ <<Aquajet/Hotflash was my favorite pairing,>> _ someone else complained.   _ <<It shouldn’t have ended this way.>> _

As fascinating as this all was, it wasn’t Soundwave’s primary goal.  There were other voices he needed to hear, and these voices were far more difficult to find.  He’d dedicated the third projection to running a search for a very specific kind of community – the kind that would have found reason to turn to the underground for a little bit of peace.  Had he been anyone, he likely never would have found his quarry, but he was Soundwave – this was what he lived for.

It took a few hours of digging, but eventually, he did manage to find a single chat room operated by, and comprised solely of Decepticons.  He didn’t have the ability to get in on his own terms, and unlike the Autobot and Neutral groups, entry wasn’t simply a matter of showing up and agreeing not to be a colossal afterburner.  It took him another hour to set up his dummy account, operated by a ‘mech’ named Jetstream, and a series of increasingly probing questions to get him into the group at all.

_ << Who are you?  What do you do? What was your rank?  Where did you serve? And in which unit?  Who referred you? When did you arrive back on Cybertron?  What is your opinion on Lord Megatron? Air Commander Starscream?  State the first three tenants of the Decepticon Code. _ >>

Lucky for Soundwave, he was the Decepticon with all the information; it wasn’t difficult to make up a believable backstory for his fictional mech, and his proclaimed bitter yet unrelenting support for former high command proved satisfactory to the mech in charge, in this case, an old Tank, fittingly named Tankor.  Soon enough, Soundwave was in, exactly where he wanted to be. What he found wasn’t particularly surprising.

_ <<Hey everyone.  This is our newbie, Jetstream.  Don’t scare ‘im off like the last three.>> _

_ <<Oh great, another Seeker,>> _ said one Runamuck.   _ <<’Cuz we ain’t got enough of those.>> _

_ <<Hold your tongue, or I’ll cut it out for you, _ >> replied a Seeker, Nova Storm.   _ <<We Seekers are the pride of the Decepticons.>> _

_ <<Were _ ,>> a new mech, Sinnertwin, corrected.   _ <<Then it was the gestalts.  Now it’s nobody. Ain’t no Decepticon pride.  Ain’t no Decepticons.>> _

_ <<You’re closing in on blasphemy,>> _ Tankor warned.

_ <<Well what do ya expect?>> _ Sinnertwin shot back. _   <<Lord Megatron’s dead, and the cause died with ‘im.  Loyalty doesn’t fill your fuel tanks – not in this world. _ >>

<< _ Not necessarily,>> _ a new mech, likely a Vehicon, given his name of 22ZE6, added.

_ <<Look out guys!  This Vehicon thinks he knows something!>> _ Runamuck laughed.

_ <<I  _ do _ know something! >> _ 22ZE6 shot back.

_ <<Like what?  How to push a hand truck into a loading bay?>>   _ Runamuck laughed again.  He really did seem to think he was funny.  22ZE6, however, was not impressed.

_ <<I saw Soundwave!>> _

Soundwave froze.  This would have been one of the Vehicons from the space bridge terminal then, one of the few mechs who had seen him back on his first day.  Soundwave didn’t know why he would have waited so long to let the news slip, but the other Cons certainly weren’t having it.

_ <<Yeah right.  Stupid Vehicon doesn’t even know how to tell a good joke,>> _ Runamuck snorted.

_ <<That’s a serious lie you’re spinning there, _ >> Nova Storm warned.   _ <<High command isn’t coming back for us, let alone Soundwave specifically.  You think if he was alive he would have let Lord Megatron die like that? _ >>

It was a stab in the spark.  He’d been plagued by guilt over his own ineptitude since the moment he let those human brats get the better of him; he didn’t want to hear it from a handful of grunts whom he’d never spoken to.  He deserved no less, however.

_ <<I know what I saw!>> _

<< _ What you saw, _ >> said Sinnertwin _ , <<Is a gross rumor being spread around by Vehicons.  I know you don’t know any better, but it is despicable behavior.  You must stop.>> _

22ZE6 did not stop.   _ <<He came through the space bridge with the Prime and some of his top Autobots!  He wasn’t even in cuffs! He’s come back to save us, I know he has!>> _

_ <<Enough! _ >> Tankor snapped, causing a momentary silence to befall the server.  It was Tankor again to break it.  _ <<Even if it is true, and Soundwave somehow survived and is back on Cybertron, he’s not here to save us.  You said he wasn’t in cuffs? The Autobots would never allow it, unless they were looking to get cozy. And if Soundwave’s cozyin’ up to the Bot scum, then that means he’s no better than the rest of ‘em – just a no-good opportunistic coward, discarding his identity like it’s some sort of fashion accessory!  Like none of the decisions any of us made, none of the oaths we swore, the parts of ourselves that we gave up meant anything at all! Pit, if he really  _ is _ back, I’ll kick his aft myself if I ever run into him. >> _

_ <<It’s Soundwave,>> _ Nova Storm noted. _   <<Lord Megatron’s right-hand, the mech who knows everything, and can do anything. _ _ Do you really think that if he was here and looking to help us that we’d still be living in this sorry state?>> _

On the second projection, a series of screams filled the chat feed.  He glanced up at the primary screen of the holocaster, wherein a familiar fiery Motorcycle was locking lips with an oversized, silver Excavator: Merry Subterra in the protoform.

<< _ I can’t believe it!  I can’t believe it!!>> _

<< _ Merry pulled him from the brink of death and nursed him back to health!  Arrrgh, that’s so romantic!>> _

_ <<Nooooooo!>> _

Soundwave shook his head.  The sudden, unexpected fictional drama between two long-time enemies-turned-begrudging-allies-turned-lovers had absolutely no bearing on Soundwave’s life right now, but it was just the distraction he needed to pull himself away from the guilt of facing down the faction he’d failed.  It was easy to see the appeal of such escapism.

It was also easy to see where his former underlings were coming from.  This must have been what Jazz’s warning had been about. No Autobot scheme could ever hurt the Decepticons more than they were currently hurting themselves.  In such a short span, he’d seen the infamous infighting that had always plagued their faction, the posturing, the hatred, and worse – he’d seen the delineation of new subfactions, of prejudice based on frame type, and on creation method.  

The Decepticons were trapped and helpless to do anything to fight off Autobot rule; it only figured they’d devise new groups that they  _ could _ fight, easy scapegoats for their horrible situation, or at least that was true of this small sample of the greater group.  But Decepticons so rarely operated on their own. If Sinnertwin was here, then so too would be his Terrorcons, and if Nova Storm was here, so too would be his trine, and the same was true for Runamuck, for Tankor, even for the Vehicon.  He couldn’t assume all Decepticons had this outlook, but it was bound to be more than a few.

He turned his attention back to the Decepticon chat, which had moved on to complaining about the drinks at a pub called Spritzee’s.  22ZE6 had notably been banned from the server, but otherwise, it was business as usual. The conversation that had damned him was over; there was no reason to care about it anymore.  And yet, it ate at him. 

He wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything if his own people were against him.  He needed to reach out, to set the record straight, to put these unruly troublemakers in their place, the way Megatron wouldn’t have hesitated to do.  But Soundwave  _ did _ hesitate.  Optimus had warned him against reaching out, not before the council had approved it.  This was a delicate situation; one wrong move on his part could destroy all hope for a better future.

Slender fingers clenched as he realized just what it was he was doing.  He was deferring to the judgment of Optimus Prime, leader of the thrice-damned Autobots!  He really had gone soft, really had betrayed his own kind. That couldn’t be allowed to stand!  A good Decepticon needed to lead by example, and no one was a better Decepticon than Soundwave! He began composing his message.

<< _ D8L6S2, at the 15 _ _ th _ _ cycle exactly; on the front steps of the New Oratory.  Announcement: incoming. Operation: secure Decepticon freedom.  Decepticons: standby. >> _

He stuck around just long enough for the baffled replies, but he had nothing further to say on the matter.  He set himself up to appear as offline and stepped away from the projections. He’d keep them running in the background, in the event that something important happened, but for now, it was time to indulge in some full-blown escapism.  Aquajet was dealing with the fallout of having his secret crush fall in love with his declared enemy. It was the exact sort of harmless fluff Soundwave needed right about now.

~~~

D8L6S2 came but Optimus did not.  He never said he would, but somehow, Soundwave had expected he’d be here for such a momentous occasion.  Not that he cared one way or another. Optimus was just an Autobot figurehead with zero authority and a lingering obsession with Megatron.  There was no reason to want him around, to find tranquility in his sturdy presence. He was better off if the mech stayed wherever it was he’d snuck off to; it was easier to focus on his own scheming if he truly was on his own.

That wasn’t to say he was expected to head to the council hall alone, however.  A little entourage had come to fetch him, made up of councilors Jazz, Windblade, and to Soundwave’s surprise, Prowl, albeit the latter had a sour look on his face and a bitter pulse in his spark.

“Councilor Soundwave,” Windblade greeted as cheerfully as she could manage around her racing energon and pounding spark.  “It is good to see you again! Sorry to have kept you in limbo for so long. We spent a long time debating exactly how we wanted to announce your return to the world, but we just couldn’t find a way that worked.  Eventually, Councilor Jazz just suggested we up and get it done, so – well – here we are. I assume Councilor Jazz gave you the run down?”

Soundwave turned a confused stare on Jazz, whose spark had given a nervous flicker, and whose face was currently sporting the dopey grin of someone who had definitely not done just that.  “Well, y’know. A bit.”

“A bit?”

“What exactly did you tell him?”

When Jazz failed to respond in time, Soundwave took the opportunity to fill in the blanks.  [[ D8L6S2, at the 15 th cycle exactly, we’re all gathering for your big reveal party on the front steps of the New Oratory.  See you there. ]]

“In my defense,” Jazz protested, “what more was I supposed to say?  It’s a press conference – only so many ways you can prepare someone for that.”

“Only so many ways  _ you _ can prepare someone for that,” Prowl shot back, brushing past his companions to slip a data tablet into Soundwave’s hands.  Soundwave didn’t bother connecting with it, earning him a sharp hiss of air through vents, and a tight purse of Prowl’s full lips, albeit no further reproach.  “But not all of us enjoy improvisation. Soundwave,” he lifted his gaze to meet Soundwave’s blank visor, “I’ve taken the liberty of compiling a list of some two hundred and seventeen likely occurrences at today’s conference.  You would do well to review it.” Two hundred seventeen specific occurrences? That nearly had Soundwave curious enough to look. Perhaps on the ride over.

Prowl didn’t seem any more perturbed by Soundwave’s current inaction than he had been before, but he did keep talking.  “I expect that the Autobots and Decepticons alike are going to take issue with this decision, so you should prepare yourself for the onslaught of hate.  I don’t anticipate any rioting today – no more than a seven percent chance, at any rate, but the prying questions will no doubt come out in force, and I have little doubt that you’ll be the recipient of some very strongly-worded letters and some less-than-thoughtful gifts in the near future.”

“Nah Prowl, I think ‘too-thoughtful’ is what you’re looking for.  No doubt these guys’ll put a whole lotta thought into how to send the exact right message, y’know?”

Prowl turned his sour glare on Jazz, though there was the barest flicker of fondness in the hum of his EM field.  “Yes, I know. Now, if we could be off. I can provide further details on the way, but we’ll miss the conference if we dally too long.”

Prowl definitely made good on his promise to provide further detail.  He hadn’t stopped issuing speculations and orders since they left Soundwave’s apartment.  From things like, “Scoop will likely be a problem. He works for the broadcast station and is vehemently anti-Decepticon.  There is a chance that he and Circuit may try to sabotage the broadcast once it’s begun,” or “Councilors Sky Lynx and Elita One have been the most vocal opponents of this plan.  You need to be prepared for the fifty-two percent possibility that one or both of them will try to cross-examine you on air. Remember, this is only an announcement. You won’t be officially sworn in for another week or two, which will follow an official council vote, after taking public outcry into account.  While people will, no-doubt, be angry, having the support of Optimus Prime has an eighty-six percent chance of garnering at least a begrudging acceptance in the eye of the average Cybertronian,” to “I don’t care how you do it, but after your reveal, there will be a brief moment where you will have to take the stand.  You need to use that time to somehow convey to the people of Cybertron that you have made the decision to join us of your own accord. You are not a puppet of the council, and you are here specifically to advocate for the Decepticons, who are as of yet unrepresented in our leadership.”

“So basically,” Jazz gave a bitter snort, “lie your aft off.  We’ll make a politician of you yet.”

“Jazz!” Windblade reproached.

“It’s true though.  There’s a reason Prime relinquished the job the us, after all.  Hard to be a beacon of purity and wisdom if you gotta sell your spark to Unicron to keep the planet running.  Better us than him, at least.” It was strange just how genuine the words were, coming from Jazz. They should have been an accusation, but as far as Soundwave could tell, he honestly believed it.  How strange.

Then again, Optimus did seem to have an almost hypnotic effect on the mechs around him – Jazz, Megatron . . . others.  As much as he hated himself for his curiosity, the lack of Optimus Prime was continuing to bother him. The council wasn’t deliberately acting behind his back, were they?  Soundwave queued up the appropriate voice clips – one from Ratchet, the other from Bulkhead.

[[Optimus ; where is he?]]

All three of the gathered mechs startled at the unexpected words coming from a mech who was so often silent, but Windblade was the first to recover.

“I believe he’s on Earth right now?  Apparently there is some sort of dispute with the human military, and he felt the need to supervise the situation.” 

Of course it was something like that.  What did he think was going to happen – providing his human allies with Cybertronian tech, when the species was well known for squabbling amongst itself.  With any luck, the whole lot of those filthy apes would wipe themselves out within a few years’ time.

“Optimus’s presence, or lack thereof, is irrelevant to today’s conference,” Prowl asserted.  “Optimus has no control over what the council does, by choice. That being said, he appointed many of us personally; he has faith in our decisions, that much is clear.”  He stomped off ahead, to the aircab that was waiting for them on the street corner. For the few merciful moments it took to load everybody up, Prowl was silent, but once they were on the road, he apparently found something else to talk about.

“You know, speaking of, you do seem to have grown . . . attached to Optimus as of late, Soundwave.  I don’t think that this little thing the two of you have is very healthy for the future of your working relationship, let alone Cybertron itself, wouldn’t you say?”

It was an odd statement to make at such a time.  Fortunately, Windblade seemed to think so too.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.  Optimus vouched for Soundwave’s position on the council, and continued to do so as necessary in the one session in which they shared attendance.  I not sure I understand where this assumption is coming from.”

Prowl sniffed, as though insulted that someone dared to not follow his train of thought.  “It’s not an assumption. Anyone in the higher echelons of the Autobot military will tell you that Optimus had an unhealthy fixation on Megatron.  They used to be . . . close.” He sneered, while his spark gave a disgusted stutter.

“How close?”

Prowl and Jazz exchanged glances, before answering simultaneously.  “ _ Close _ .”

“I don’t disagree with his reasoning for instating Soundwave into the council,” Prowl continued.  “Any of us can see that  _ something _ has to change.  What has me worried, however, is how much of his extracurricular time he’s devoted to you.”  He said the final word as though it were some great profanity. Soundwave, naturally, turned his back on the presumptive Autobot to look out the window.  Whatever delusions Optimus had, Soundwave didn’t particularly care one way or the other. Pit, if what Prowl was implying was true, then Optimus was more reliable an ally than Soundwave had given him credit for.

“Soundwave here was Megatron’s right hand,” Prowl explained.  “His closest, most trusted ally. One might say, the closest living vestige of Megatron himself.”  Soundwave could feel the hateful eyes on his back, and that was to say nothing of the sounds emitting not only from Prowl’s frame but Jazz’s as well.  “Optimus is well-aware of this, but maintains he is handling this situation rationally. I happen to disagree. There is a very real risk that he’s been compromised, and with Cybertron in so precarious a position, we need the closest thing we’ve got to a universally-beloved authority figure to remain as such.”  He paused, shifting in his seat, and when he spoke anew, his voice was louder, more pointed. The message was intended for Soundwave specifically.

“So we need you to put a stop to it.  Any uncharacteristic behavior he exhibits towards you should be immediately discouraged.  The two of you are not friends; you can’t act as though you are.”

Prowl wasn’t entirely wrong: Soundwave and Optimus  _ weren’t _ friends, and never could be.  But while he had no love for Optimus Prime, he absolutely loathed Prowl.  He had no intention of playing nice in that regard, least of all when it would be to his detriment.  Despite their tumultuous past, Optimus was still the one who had pulled him and Laserbeak from the Shadowzone, who had found a way to grant Soundwave a path to freedom, and who had treated him with more respect than anyone else had yet to.  

Who cared what the reasoning for it was?  Pit, if anyone was the last remaining vestige of Megatron, it would have been Optimus himself.  The obsession between the two had always been mutual; with Megatron gone, Optimus was the closest thing left to Megatron, and not just Megatron, but pre-war, pre-madness Megatron – the idealistic revolutionary that Soundwave had sworn his life to so very long ago . . .

Then again, maybe it was best to discourage these ‘uncharacteristic behaviors’ after all.

The aircab approached the New Oratory where a small crowd had gathered.  At the head of the crowd, situated just in front of that ugly, water-spewing fountain, was Ultra Magnus.  Even from within the air cab, on the other side of a noisy crowd, Soundwave could make out the mech’s words with ease.

“. . . change has always been a difficult force to accept, but at a time of reconstruction, a time such as this, change is a constant.  We must move forward, we must grow, we must distance ourselves from our turbulent pasts, while at the same time, vowing to never forget the mistakes that lay therein.”  The words were very pretty – would have been downright musical coming from the mouth of a born-orator like Megatron. Ultra Magnus, however, was not a born-orator. He stuttered, paused at the wrong moment, and kept consulting his notes.  It wasn’t much of a performance, but the crowd remained more-or-less attentive. Lucky for him, Soundwave supposed.

“The current state of Cybertron remains far from satisfactory.  Inequality continues to run rampant, even as we strive to transition from a world at war to a world at peace.  We have done all that we can, but we are not without our own limits. It is for this reason that we have gathered you here today, as part of our goal to remain transparent.  We have brought in a consultant to assist us with the integration of the disenfranchised former Decepticons into modern-day society.”

That got a rise out of the crowd.  Soundwave didn’t get the chance to pick out more than a few reactions, however, as a certain set of voices, much nearer this time, were demanding his attention.

“Alright,” said Prowl.  “We have timed your entrance precisely.  In exactly one minute, you will exit the air cab.  You will walk down that path,” he pointed at a road along the back of the crowd, which dipped behind a convenient wall before emerging closer to the podium.  “That will minimize the chances of you being spotted beforehand, though will not completely remove the possibility. You will thus carry yourself tall and proudly, as is befitting of a councilor.  I will be walking ahead of you, while Jazz and Windblade will be on either flank. Should you choose to fight, flee, or otherwise make a scene, we will stop you, and you will only be hurting yourself in the end.  I would advise against it.” Soundwave hadn’t considered the possibility before, but now that it was out there, he very much would have loved taking to the sky and running away.

Laserbeak still needed him.  He never would have made it anyway.

The crowd was growing excited, anxious, anticipatory.  Soundwave wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He’d been warned by Jazz and Prowl alike, and had his own experience to back it up; people were going to be angry with his appointment, right down to his own allies, who he had explicitly directed to watch his impending failur.  What had he been thinking? He had no plan for the Decepticons beyond this point, which was bad, as his old allies no doubt thought he would, that was, if they’d bothered showing up at all.

He was really starting to regret his choice to not carefully peruse Prowl’s tablet when he’d had the chance.  There were hundreds of bots out here, all expecting him to provide them with something magnificent, with the answer to all of the world’s problems, and Ultra Magnus’s speech wasn’t helping at all.  The face of the council was hyping him up, giving the crowd further reason to be disappointed in the eventual reveal. 

What was he even going to do once he got out there?  There were far too many variables for him to accurately assess the situation two hundred seventeen likely outcomes by Prowl’s count.  There was no way he could come up with an acceptable course of action on the spot like that, and damn Jazz and Prowl both for not giving him ample time to prepare.  It was almost as though they’d intentionally sabotaged him (had they? Was everything they’d implied up to this point some elaborate lie?)

“Sounders, that’s your cue,” Jazz whispered.  “Get out there and do us proud.” Soundwave had missed whatever cue it was he was supposed to be following altogether, but sure enough, the door of the cab opened, and Prowl slid out.  Soundwave, unsure of what else to do, followed.

The idea of fleeing looked more appealing with every step he took.  There was no other way he was going to come out on top here. Who had even thought it was a good idea to put him in front of a crowd?  He was  _ Soundwave,  _ notorious charisma vacuum!  He was going to make Ultra Magnus look like Megatron by comparison.  The least he could do was fly away and save a little face.

_ Laserbeak needs this. _

He kept pressing forward, head held high and legs surprisingly sturdy all things considered.  Already, he could hear the murmuring begin.

“Hey, was that –“

“Couldn’t be, don’t be silly.  He’s dead!”

“Yeah, trick of the light.”

“I swear, I just saw the Decepticon communications officer walking in between a couple of councilmechs.”

At the very least, the banter seemed more curious than accusatory.  That was a plus. That was the only plus. Once he officially passed the barricade and stepped into sight of the crowd, the reactions only grew.  It seemed everyone had something to say, and stressed as he was, Soundwave couldn’t find the presence of mind to pick out any individual voices in the crowd.

_ “Stay calm, Soundwave.  You’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time you’ve spoken before a crowd before,” _ Megatron’s voice whispered in his ear, trying its best to soothe him, for all the good it did.  The last time Soundwave had addressed a crowd, he’d had a voice to do it with, he’d had real power, he’d had an easy out.  He’d had Megatron.

“That’s right,” said Ultra Magnus without a flicker of excitement in his voice.  “This is to be our newest inductee, barring an upcoming vote. We are joining forces with Soundwave, as our representative of Decepticon affairs.”  He stepped aside, and without showing any weakness, just as instructed, Soundwave slid up to the podium.

“There is a terminal to connect with,” Ultra Magnus murmured.  “Use it as you will.” With that said, the last thing standing between Soundwave and the hungry crowd disappeared into the background.  And standing there, before hundreds of expectant voices, all hungry for some sort of insight into this peculiar decision, Soundwave’s mind went blank.

 


	8. The Power of Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave's political approval is a rollercoaster, powered solely by words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me if there are more typos than usual. I've had to switch back to transcribing from a journal. It's quite the process x.x

The blank space that had made a home where his mind used to be wasn’t all bad.  For instance, just the act of standing at the podium, not doing anything at all, was making most of the Autobots present very nervous.  Anyone who’d dealt with him in the past knew that Soundwave never just stood around doing nothing – there was always something nefarious about his presence, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to rear its ugly head.  The Autobots were bracing themselves for it, the neutrals took their cue from their neighbors, and the handful of Decepticons lurking in the back (They’d come! . . .  _ They’d come.) _ watched in eager anticipation.

The trouble was, Soundwave legitimately had no plan in place, nor the presence of mind to come up with something on the fly.  This was meant to be the moment where he sold himself to the world, made them believe in a plan he had no confidence in himself.  Where he convinced the Autobots that he’d been declawed, and the Decepticons that he was still a threat. There were too many contradictions – resolving them all was impossible.

The crowd was growing restless.  He’d been silent, unmoving for too long.  They were beginning to doubt, and that was the one thing he couldn’t allow.

_ Do something!  Do something! _

“Whoops, looks like we got a technical difficulty up here.”  Jazz swung himself around the podium, squeezing in beneath Soundwave’s shoulder to pretend to fiddle with the wiring of the terminal within.  “Aw, yep. Man, that’s embarrassing. Just give me a sec, and I’ll fix this right up. Sorry for the trouble.”

Quick on his feet as ever.  Jazz had bought him some time, and simultaneously pulled him from his panic.  Well intentioned though it was, the notion of being babied by an Autobot was more than a little insulting.  Soundwave had always been known for his competence, for his ability to provide results in the face of the impossible.  He didn’t need help from an Autobot!

Fueled by bitter rage, he ran a quick search through his drives to find the perfect recording for the occasion, and with it queued up to play, he elbowed the pesky Autobot aside and stepped back up to the stand.

[[ My fellow Decepticons . . . ]  The effect was immediate. At the sound of Megatron’s voice, pulled from a speech back in the early days of the revolution, every Autobot in the audience moved into fight or flight mode, reaching for weapons that had long since been discarded, preparing to defend themselves from an enemy who no longer existed.  Soundwave could even feel the tension in the mechs at his back; it was a powerful moment. Meanwhile, at the back of the crowd, that handful of Decepticons leapt to attention, waiting for the next command.

[[ I speak to you today, not as your leader, but as your equal, as a mech who has shared in your suffering, who has toiled in the same mines, sacrificed life and limb in the gladiator pits, been stomped into the ground by the pedes of those who deem themselves our superiors, our betters.  Together, we have faced poverty, starvation, persecution, oppression, and for what? What sin have we committed to warrant our subjugation?

[[ There are those who would call us ruffians, thugs – would assume that we are somehow lesser, because of who we are, because of where we came from.  These same mechs would sit up in their gilded towers, drinking in the light of the sun that is denied us, willfully blind of the hell that exists beneath their feet.  Ignorant of the mech so desperate for fuel, that he must steal from another; the mech who has nowhere to go, and so remains on the streets, exposed to the acid rains and toxic smog that clog the underground; the mech who toils away in the mines and factories until his body gives out, and he is left where he falls, to be trampled to death by his own brothers.  The fact of the matter is, if they lived like us, lived with the jaws of desperation biting at their throats, then they would be no different than the ruffians they claim to despise.

[[ But we are so much more than where we’ve come from, the horrors we’ve been forced to resort to.  Even in the pits of despair, hope can shine through. I feel it, and I wish to share it with you. I stand before you today to present a path to a new Cybertron, a better Cybertron.  A Cybertron where caste and birth cannot determine your fate. Where anyone with merit and dedication can forge the future they so desire, whatever it may be.

[[ We must appeal to our brothers on the surface, share with them the plight of our people.  Education can change the most stubborn of minds, and I’ve found in my journeys that the average surface dweller is not malicious, but merely ignorant – of the extent of our plight, of the nature of our people, of what they can do to help.  There is no need for the status quo to remain in place – the compassionate, the dreamers, the ones who wish for a world of equality, far outnumber those who would willfully keep us down, so let us unite as one Cybertron, as brothers forged from the same life-force, children of the Allspark.

[[ I will be our voice on the surface.  I will appeal to our oppressors, and fight for our rights.  With my words and my wits, I will win battles, create allies from enemies, and friends from allies.  And I will not rest until every Cybertronian is equal in the eyes of the law, just as they are equal in the eyes of the One Who Made Us. ]]

It was no doubt a controversial speech.  Any longstanding Decepticon would recognize it as one given during the time Megatron was working most closely with Orion Pax, and it showed.  This was before the betrayal, before the machinations of the Senate had torn a united cause into separate factions, before the pressure of leadership, the obsession with the mech who he had once loved like no other, the toxicity of rebound relationships, the paranoia, and the desperation had driven their once-great leader to madness.  This was a Megatron who was still full of optimism, who legitimately believed every word that came out of his mouth. It was a Megatron who had found love and forgiveness, whose spark was overflowing with an unquenchable joy that he couldn’t help but share with the world. It was a Megatron who had died forty thousand years ago.

Soundwave had expected the words to have an impact on all who heard them, but he hadn’t realized just how much they would affect him as well.  This was the Megatron he’d fallen in love with, the Megatron he’d dedicated his life to, the Megatron he would have sacrificed anything for. And he had.  He’d given up everything he’d ever held dear to follow that glorious mech, to see that the beautiful future he’d first spoken of on a quiet night in the backroom of some dingy bar so very long ago, become a reality.  But it hadn’t come to pass. First Megatron had died, then the pitiful creature that replaced him died too, and now they were here, in a future where the Autobots had won, and all of those whispered promises in ramshackle shacks in lower kaon, had been lost to the ages.

_ I miss you . . . _

This wasn’t the time to be sentimental.  Choosing a speech by Megatron would no doubt earn him distrust in the eyes of the Autobots, and he wasn’t certain how the Decepticons would respond.  Despite the optimism that, with the advantage of hindsight, came like a slap to the face, it was still Megatron’s words coming out of his audio transmitters, and as far as Soundwave was concerned, they were Megatron’s words at their purest – uncorrupted by the obstacles their enemies had constructed for them. 

He stared out over the crowd, taking in the glares that many of the Autobots had fixed upon him, the frantic sparks and tensing frames.  He took in the neutrals, easily identifiable by their lack of mistrust. Many were no doubt hearing the words of Megatron for the very first time, and they liked what they heard, if the sparkle that shone in so many optics was any indication.  Then there were the Decepticons.

“What do you make of that?”

“Couldn’t be something the Autobots made him say.  No way would the Autobots let ‘im play one of Lord Megatron’s speeches.”

“ _ Was _ that one of Lord Megatron’s speeches?  It sounded way too . . . hippie for one of his speeches.  And we all know that Soundwave’s real good at stringing clips together.”

“You think he’s willingly working for them?”

“Didn’t you listen at all?  He said he’d be our voice in the council.  Said he’d fight for our rights. That’s a good thing!”

“Unless he took their side.  I mean, where’s he even been for so long?  Something about this just doesn’t add up.”

“Sides, he doesn’t have Laserbeak.  Bet the Autobots is holding ‘im hostage.”

Soundwave would have liked to keep listening to this handful of Decepticon grunts debate his motives – get a better idea as to where he stood with them in light of this new development.  Unfortunately, Jazz had stepped back up to the podium, and the moment he started talking, they stopped.

“Whew, that was a doozy of a speech, doncha think?”  He gave a good-natured laugh that nearly managed to sound genuine.  “Never thought I’d hear a Megatron speech again, let alone one from the old days, eh?  What was that? D27-L16-S100, yeah?”

Soundwave fixed a suspicious stare on Jazz and gave a slow nod.  He shouldn’t have been surprised that Jazz knew so much about Megatron’s pre-war doings; he’d been right there at Optimus’s side, after all, and yet, Soundwave had been caught off-guard.  What was Jazz getting at?

“Ah yeah, that was a good one.  And strangely apropos for the situation; color me impressed.”  He laughed again before turning back to the audience, who was cautiously beginning to relax.  “Leave it to Soundwave to find a sound clip from some forty thousand years ago to match the moment.  Sure, not all of the details strictly apply, but you get the gist of it.

“We’re worried about the treatment of the Decepticons on our shiny new planet, so Soundwave here is gonna speak to us on their behalf.  And we’re all hopin’ it works out better this time.” With that biting statement, he slid backwards, making room for Ultra Magnus to take the stand.

“I would remind everyone in attendance,” he said, speaking much more fluidly than he had before, “that this is a tentative appointment.  The council will be holding a vote one week from today as to Soundwave’s future within our ranks. If you take issue with the appointment, or otherwise have any questions or comments, please contact your representative.  If the public is not with us in this decision, then it will be reversed, but for the time being, this is our solution to the problem of growing inequality between our factions.

“Now, while we are gathered, I would like to take the opportunity to address the construction project in District Three . . .”

~~~

Back in the council’s chambers, his new colleagues were less than thrilled with him.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” Prowl snapped.  “What could have possibly possessed you to use a clip of Megatron?   _ Megatron! _  Voice of the Decepticons or not, the Autobots are still the majority-population, and none of them will be keen to support you after that.”

Annoyed, Soundwave played back Prowl’s earlier instructions, [[ Convey to the people of Cybertron that you have made the decision to join us of your own accord.  You are not a puppet of the council, and you are here specifically to advocate for the Decepticons. ]]

“I mean, it coulda been worse,” Jazz snorted.  “He could have played  _ that _ for ‘em.”  The comment earned him a sharp glare from his already fuming colleague.

“Your levity is not appreciated.”

“Just tryna put things in perspective.”  Jazz gave a helpless shrug. “You told him to convince the other Cons that he ain’t a puppet of the council, and I can’t think of a better way he coulda established that short of killing someone.”

“Jazz,” Prowl warned, but was brushed off.

“I mean, no one’s gonna assume for a second that the council approved Soundwave to use one of Megatron’s old speeches.”

“You’ve made your point, Jazz,” Prowl insisted, threat creeping into his voice.  It was the most entertainment Soundwave had enjoyed in years. With any luck, the two would resort to blows soon.

Unfortunately, Ultra Magnus stepped in to put an end to the bickering.  “What’s past is past. We can stand here debating all day over whether or not Soundwave made the right call by employing Megatron’s old speech, but at the end of the day, we still have to deal with the fallout.  It’s scarcely been an hour, and I’ve already received comms from a dozen angry bots with complaints ranging from our decision to put a Decepticon in a position of power, to our decision to put a Megatron Loyalist in a position of power, to our decision to put Soundwave, specifically, in a position of power.”

“I’ve received seven so far over here,” Windblade added, “though they’re equally divided between resenting a Decepticon in power, and admiring the speech.  Admittedly, I’m not entirely certain everyone was aware that it was a recording, let alone a recording of – er – Megatron.” She seemed strangely uncomfortable with the name, as though it were some profanity she didn’t have the privilege to utter.  Ridiculous.

“Seven?” Elita scoffed, “Try twenty-seven.  And frankly, I’m in agreement. I thought this was a bad idea from the start, but that stunt he just pulled?  Seems to me like  _ some _ people think that the war isn’t over.”  Her spark pulsed with fury and she turned to glare into Soundwave’s empty face.  “I’d delete those from your memory banks if I were you. The words of a tyrant have no place in our new society.”  Soundwave wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, but neither, it seemed, was Elita One. The two continued to stare at one another as the silence grew increasingly heavy, and neither broke eye-contact until Springer pulled their attention away.

“Either way, the chances of Soundwave being sworn into the council are looking a little slim, which means we’re back to square one with our Decepticon problem.”

Autobots really were pathetic.  A few harmless words, a message of solidarity with his brethren, and they were practically swooning in indignation.  He’d known that his decision to use Megatron’s speech wouldn’t fly well with the Autobot public, but the sheer level of the outrage had been unanticipated.  As much as he enjoyed the thought of affronted, prudish Autobots, however, Springer’s observation wasn’t wrong. Soundwave couldn’t help the Decepticons if he wasn’t allowed to join the council, and worse – his relative freedom was contingent on his agreement to serve on the council.  What would happen if he failed to secure his position?

[[ Having the support of Optimus Prime has an eighty-six percent chance of garnering at least a begrudging acceptance in the eye of the average Cybertronian. ]]

All eyes in the room shifted to Prowl, whose field was flickering in apprehension, despite his best attempts at a poker face.  “Yes, thank you, Soundwave, for taking my words out of context. Still,” he sighed, “I suppose that if anyone could fix this mess, it would be Optimus.  Though I admit that I hadn’t foreseen this sort of blunder when I said that.” Some tactician he was. “I have doubts that even Optimus will be able to sway public opinion to your side, if the public believes you to be a continued Megatron loyalist.”

[[ Having the support of Optimus Prime has an eighty-six percent chance of garnering at least a begrudging acceptance in the eye of the average Cybertronian. ]]

Prowl’s eyes narrowed.  “I know what I said, Soundwave.  There’s no need to be petulant.”

Soundwave disagreed.  So he played the clip again, and again, and again, enjoying the sounds of flaring tempers and racing fans. 

“Soundwave, that’s enough of this nonsense,” Ultra Magnus commanded, or tried to at least.  In response, Soundwave increased the volume.

“What, you didn’t install a ‘mute’ switch too?” Sky Lynx complained, cringing his long neck away from the sound, in the absence of hands to cover his audial receptors.  This time, Soundwave replayed the clip in quicker and quicker succession, until the recordings were overlapping, filling the room with further cacophony.

He didn’t let up until he heard Perceptor open up a comm-line, Optimus’s name on his lips, though to his frustration, the blockade in his head prevented him from making out the reply.

“Oy Perce, you can’t reward that kinda acting out,” Jazz complained, albeit, without much conviction.  He was happy as anyone to have his audials spared from Soundwave’s assault.

“Clearly he wants Optimus to step in,” Perceptor replied coolly.  “And I think we can all agree that calling Optimus in is the next step, if we want to put any effort into making this arrangement work.  Besides, it wasn’t as though he was going to stop anytime soon,” he added, confirming for Soundwave that the scientist was indeed the smartest of the Autobots.

“Fair enough,” Jazz shrugged.  “What’d he say?”

“He will return tomorrow, and will speak out on it then.  In the meantime, he’s requested that we avoid acting in relation to the situation where at all possible.”

Jazz slumped back into his seat.  “Sounds like Prime.”

“So what,” said Springer slowly, “We have all these angry folks calling in, and we’re just supposed to give them the brush off?  I don’t see that going over well.”

“They’ll accept it if we tell them the Prime’s working on it,” said Aileron.  Elita One was less accepting.

“If we pass this off on the Prime, we’re going to look incompetent.  No one will have confidence in a council that has to go running to Prime at every little hiccup.”

“That’s what he’s there for,” Aileron protested.  “The Prime carries the wisdom of the Matrix; he’s meant to lead us, to guide us towards a righteous path.  He’s meant to be the mech we turn to when we need help. If we can’t resolve the issue ourselves, then the people should take comfort in knowing that the matter is in the hands of a Prime.”  Aileron’s nature as a foreigner on Cybertron could not have been made more clear. She’d never seen the Golden Age - the reduction of the supposedly god-like lineage of Primes into the shallow, washed-up wreck, fully complicit in the oppression of his own people, that was Zeta Prime.  Even the Autobots, with their blind worship of Optimus, couldn’t deny that his predecessor had done much to destroy all sanctity the position may have once held.

“Elita One is right,” said Ultra Magnus.  “The people need to have faith in our leadership, or we will lose our already tenuous grasp on this world and descend into complete anarchy.”  

At this point, anarchy looked to be the better option to Soundwave.  He wondered how difficult it would be, in his current state, to hack the  lone caster network and broadcast this conversation across all of Iacon. Unfortunately, Jazz seemed to be reading his thoughts.

“And that would be bad,” he said, sparing a subtle glance for Soundwave.  “There’s a lotta tensions boiling on all sides. The Bots hate the Cons, the Cons hate the Bots, everybody hates the neutrals.  If there ain’t nothin’ keeping everyone in line, Cybertron’s gonna turn right back into a war zone.”

It was easier to accept the answer than Soundwave would have liked.  Everyone was tired of the war, but the fighting had continued on as long as it had for a reason.  Forty thousand years of animosity wasn’t going to disappear in a night, or even two years; all it would take was a single misunderstanding to light a match under the whole thing, and without training nor combat experience, it would be the neutrals to suffer most.  Soundwave bore no love for those cowards, but nor did he want them to die needlessly. It seemed playing nice was more important than he’d realized.

“That being said,” said Ultra Magnus, himself picking up on Jazz and Soundwave’s minute interaction, and frowning between the two, “we are going to have to stall.  If anyone contacts you, inform them that we will be releasing our official statement tomorrow morning. Say nothing else about the affair. I am hoping that it will appear more as though we’ve conferred with Optimus, rather than shoved the issue off on him.”  This time, he fixed his severe stare on Perceptor.

“But there are other issues to discuss while we remain in session.  I move to put a temporary close on the issue of Megatron’s speech, and move on to the next topic on the agenda.”

“Motion seconded,” said Prowl, with a little too much enthusiasm.

And that was that.

~~~

They’d told him to stand by, but Soundwave wasn’t about to just sit around and do nothing.  Once he was back in his tower, he was quick to turn the news back on, where his stunt was the top story.

“Has the council lost their minds?” said the obnoxious little host, a neutral Speedster named Circuit.

“It sure does seem so,” replied his guest, a former Autobot named Outback.  “Dunno what they’re thinkin’, appointin’ a mech from Decepticon high command to lead us!  It’s absurd!”

The two continued to talk amongst themselves, and Soundwave let their voices fade into the background, in favor of focusing on the blogs and chatroom.

_ ::Megatron loyalists are still out there and today’s fiasco proves it!  We can’t let that monster serve on the council:: _

_ ::I don’t know much about the war, but are all Cons as creepy as that mech the council called in to represent them today?  He had no face! And did he project that recording himself? Argh, gross!:: _

_ ::Actually, contrary to popular opinion, I think having Soundwave work on the council could be a good thing.  There was no mech in the whole war better at running things than Soundwave. And if that’s what it takes to prevent a second Great War from breaking out, all the better!:: _

Meanwhile, the Autobot-Neutral forums were in a predictable uproar.

_ <<He can’t come back!  He can’t come back!!>> _

_ <<Megatron is dead, don’t worry.>> _

_ <<Megatron may be dead, but everyone knows that no one followed him more faithfully than Soundwave!>> _

_ <<That freak’s a total monster!  And he’s scarily good at what he does.>> _

_ <<And we know from that speech that he’s still down with his old boss.>> _

_ <<He’s gonna take over the council from within!>> _

_ <<He’s gonna start the war all over again!>> _

Despite the accusations, however, the most upsetting statements came from the Decepticons themselves.

_ <<What do you think he’s up to?>> _ Runamuck pondered.  _  <<No way a mech like Soundwave chooses to work for those Bot scum!>> _

_ <<Blackmail>> _ Nova Storm suggested.  << _ They want us to accept him as our new leader while they dangle him on a puppeteer’s filament.>> _

_ <<I can’t imagine the Bots are in control here>> _ Tankor protested.  _  <<If they were, then that trick with the speech blew right up in their faces.  Have you seen the news?>> _

_ <<No>> _ Runamuck shot back.   _ <<’Cuz I don’t got a caster.>> _

_ <<Point is, it’s bad out there.>> _

_ <<Maybe that was just Soundwave being rebellious>> _ Nova Storm ventured.  _  <<It seems like something he’d do, blackmail or not.>> _

_ <<I mean, we could always just ask him.?? _

The room fell silent at Tankor’s words.  It was Runamuck to speak up first.

_ <<What do you mean?>> _

_ <<I mean, he was here before, right?  He’s the one who dropped that cryptic information - he gave us today’s date, yeah?  How else could he have known? ‘Sides, the way he wrote was very Soundwave-y - I mean, if any of you ever heard him talk back in the day . . .>> _

_ <<Jetstream?>> _ Runamuck tried.   _ <<Are you there?>> _

_ >>Dunno why you bother,>> _  Nova Storm shot back.  _  <<He hasn’t uttered a word all week.>> _

_ <<If it is Soundwave,>> _ Tankor interjected,  _ <<then it would be weirder if he  _ had _ said something.  Soundwave, is that you? >> _

Soundwave didn’t want to answer.  Already, he’d thrown contemporary Cybertron into chaos with words alone.  Further words from an amateur would only escalate matters, and Soundwave made even an amateur look like a master.  It was better to keep quiet and let Optimus solve the affair. As utterly pathetic as the Prime was, Soundwave couldn’t deny he’d at least picked up Megatron’s knack for poetry.

_ “It’s the coward’s way out - the Autobot way out,” _ Megatron sneered.   _ You really have let them corrupt you.  You’ve gone soft, Soundwave, and it’s barely been any time at all.” _

Megatron was right, of course.  At his peak, Soundwave was feared, reviled, respected.  Now he was none of those things - just a broken, miserable shell of a mech, moping over his bird and acting only when given permission.  If the Autobots and their ideals had won, if freedom truly was the right of all sentient beings, then surely Soundwave should have been able to reap the benefits as well.  Living in fear of his new Autobot overlords, after all, was not only behavior ill-befitting the mech Megatron had chosen as his right hand, but behavior ill-befitting that of the ideal Autobot as well.

_ <<Affirmative.>> _

For one gratifying moment, he felt the warm glow of liberty shining within him.  Then the Decepticons started talking again.

_ <<See, I knew it!>> _

_ <<It’s good to have you back, sir!>> _

_ <<Soundwave, why are you working with the Autobots?>> _

There it was.  It was time to explain himself; he could only hope his audience was a little more understanding this time around.

_ <<Autobot victory: unfortunate - however, Autobot victory: undeniable.  Decepticon treatment by Autobot society: disagreeable. Soundwave: requested by council to represent Decepticon interests.  Soundwave: agrees to terms.>> _

For a long moment, no one said anything.  This time, however, it was Tankor to break the silence.

_ <<Hahah, that’s a funny joke, sir.  But you don’t have to pretend for us.  How are they blackmailing you? It’s Laserbeak, isn’t it?>> _

Soundwave very nearly agreed, but he held back at the last second.  Yes, he was technically being blackmailed, regardless of whether or not the bots had tampered with Laserbeak, and yes, he was absolutely a prisoner, but agreeing with Tankor would do more harm than good.  Regardless of the terms of his imprisonment, Soundwave mostly agreed with his new role in society; he couldn’t change the fact that the Autobots had won the war, but at least he could mitigate the damage.

_ <<Negative.>> _

_ <<Well obviously,>> _ said Runamuck.  _  >>Soundwave is the one who does the blackmailing.  He ain’t gonna fall victim himself!>> _

_ <<Y-yeah!  That must be it,>> _ Tankor agreed.   _ <<So what’s the plan then?  You’ve infiltrated the Autobots’ stupid council - now you can do whatever you want!>> _

_ <<Yeah, what’s the plan, boss?  How can we help return the Decepticons to our former glory?>> _ Runamuck added.

Well, this had taken a poor turn.  How was he going to get himself out of this mess?

_ <<Assistance: unnecessary.>> _

_ <<That’s our Soundwave>> _ Runamuck laughed.   _ <<Tearing the world apart all on his own.>> _

Well, that hadn’t worked.  He had to find a better approach and fast; this couldn’t be allowed to grow further out of hand.

_ <<Misunderstanding: detected.  Decepticons: defeated. Political subterfuge: non-existent.  Soundwave’s motives: previously-stated.>> _

_ <<What?>> _ Runamuck said.

_ <<Soundwave: requested by council to represent Decepticon interests.  Soundwave: agrees to terms.>> _

Runamuck’s reply was bewildered, more than anything.  _ <<You can’t be serious.>> _

Nova Storm’s reply, on the other hand, was a little more straightforward.  _  <<How exactly do you intend to represent Decepticon interests if you have no idea what those interests are?  We don’t want a representative in the Autobot council; we want to overthrow the Autobot council, a fact which you’d know if you’d been here at all over the last two years!>> _

_ <<Y’know,>> s _ aid Runamuck _ , <<I bet I know where he disappeared to for so long.  Can’t be a coincidence that he comes back and immediately sides with the Autobots.>> _

_ <<That’s what I’ve been saying,>> _ Nova Storm sneered.   _ <<He’s either a puppet or a coward, and I’m not sure which yet.>> _

He never should have said anything at all, but it was too late to back out now.   _ <<Megatron: destroyed; Decepticons: defeated.  War: concluded. Peace: desired.>> _

_ <<So you are a coward,>> _ Nova Storm shot back.   _ <<So that’s it, then?  Forty thousand years of fighting, and you’re content to lose?>> _

_ <<Negative,>> _ Soundwave admitted.  _  <<However, loss: concrete; forthcoming mitigation - litigation - combat through word and custom: preferred.  Alliance with Autobot council: distasteful, but necessary for peaceful resolution.>> _

Unfortunately, while Soundwave grew more adamant with every word uttered, the gathered Decepticons seemed to only lose more faith.

_ <<Primus!  What would Lord Megatron say if he saw you now?>> _ Runamuck snapped.

_ <<Megatron’s most loyal>> _ Nova Storm sniffed.  _  <<Clearly a title unearned.>> _

Soundwave had one last-ditch effort in store, but he had little faith that it would sway anyone.  Nothing else had, after all.

_ <<Continued fighting: pointless.  Autobots: superior in number; superior in organization.  Decepticon leadership: hinged on Megatron’s presence. Starscream: missing.  Soundwave: inadequate. Chance of any other Decepticon taking control: six percent.  Chance of united cause: four percent. Chance of victory: point zero-zero-zero-one percent.  Cowardice: inconsequential; current course of action: logical.>> _

_ <<Or maybe he spent all that time hanging with Shockwave,>> _ Nova Storm hissed.   _ <<’Logical,’ really?>> _

That was it, then.  Soundwave had lost them.  He should have just let their lot keep on speculating - the misconceptions would have been better than his pathetic attempt at forging an argument.  He couldn’t even fully refute all of their points. Though many of their allegations were ridiculous, Soundwave couldn’t deny that he was in no way equipped to adequately represent Decepticon interests at the moment - not when he was so out of touch with his own people.  He hadn’t truly believed that so many would yearn for the return of the war, least of all amongst those who had willingly returned to Autobot-dominated Cybertron. Were the ideas of this small collective really so widespread though? If that was the case, peace would be harder to achieve than he’d realized.

_ <<Agreement: will not be reached.  Prolonged arguing: pointless.>> _

_ <<Frag outta here, you coward!!>> _ Runamuck hissed.

_ <<No wonder we lost the war, with bots like you in charge!!>> _ Nova Storm added.

Even Tankor, who had been quiet for so long, got in on it.   _ << . . . >> _ The written statement of silence spoke louder than any word.  Soundwave was no longer welcome here.

He gave no reply, as he should have done in the first place - not that he could have replied if he’d wanted to.  Within thirty seconds, a message had appeared on his screen.

_ ::YOU HAVE BEEN BANNED.:: _

_ “Idiots, the lot of them!”  _ Megatron roared.   _ “They dare to treat you, their superior in every way, with such disrespect?!  They are no true Decepticons. If they were, they would know their proper place!” _

_ “Desist.” _

Soundwave didn’t need to turn around to know that Megatron had disappeared.  The words had been meant as a comfort, but Soundwave didn’t want to hear them.  Frankly, Megatron was the last mech he wanted to see right now - the fanatic devotion of his followers - mechs Megatron had scarcely known, let alone cared about, was leading to some very real problems in the present.  Worse yet, though none had been closer to Megatron in life than Soundwave, hearing such platitudes on his lips felt empty, weak. Were these actually the sort of things Megatron would say, or were they merely the sort of things Soundwave wished he woudd say?

Soundwave had no answer for that.

~~~

<<Are you watching the news right now?>> Jazz’s voice rang over the comm.  <<’Cuz you should be.>>

For once, Soundwave hadn’t been.  The remainder of the previous night had been spent disconnected from all media sources.  Rejected by those he was meant to be fighting for, he’d found it difficult to remain motivated, and though the feeling would no doubt pass, it was much preferable to dedicate himself to the miserable task of monitoring Laserbeak’s current status: unchanged.

At Jazz’s prompting, he flicked the holocaster back on, to find a massive image of Optimus Prime’s head projected across his wall.  After a moment, the camera zoomed out to also reveal the interviewer he was speaking with (Circuit, as usual).

“So you actually agree with the council’s decision to allow a dangerous Decepticon leader into their ranks?”

“I do,” said Optimus, pausing (for dramatic effect, as far as Soundwave was concerned), before providing elaboration.  “I do not think it controversial to say that, after forty thousand years of fighting, most mechs have no desire to see the war start up again, and those that do, likely feel wronged by the world in this time of relative peace - and those who are wronged are not few in number.  That the Autobots won the war is indisputable, but if we continue to interact with one another as though the war had never ended, then the war will never truly be over.

“Megatron did not come from nowhere.  The Decepticons were a reaction to the deep, systemic injustices present in the Golden Age.  There will be other Megatrons - ten years down the line, one hundred, one thousand, reacting to the very injustices we ignore today.  Though we may deem their current suffering justified punishment for their role in the war, that line of thinking will only lead us to further bloodshed.

“It will not be easy, but we need to move past the horrors of the war, to remind ourselves that, no matter our faction, we are all born of the Allspark, we all call this world home.  We are brothers, sisters, the children of Primus, and with so few of us remaining, those bonds must be enough to sustain us as a species.”

Circuit looked on, speechless for a long moment, before he at last remembered that he was meant to be hosting a program.  “Okay,” he stammered. “So you’re saying that, to address systemic biases against the Decepticons due to Autobot leadership, you fully endorse the council promoting a Decepticon to into a leadership position within their ranks.”

“That is correct.”

Again, Circuit was caught off-guard, likely by the grave importance granted to even such a minor acknowledgement.  Clearly, he’d never spoken with the Prime before.

“Okay, but why Soundwave?  Every Autobot I’ve spoken with describes him as scheming, terrifying, ruthless - a few have even credited him with the war’s extreme duraiton.”

Optimus frowned, even more deeply than his defaut expression tended toward.  It took him a moment to answer, though not for being caught unprepared. That was just the way he spoke.  “At the end of the war, much of Decepticon high command were either offlined, or else forced into exile. Without a familiar chain of command, the Decepticons have had . . . difficulty in adjusting.  There is much dissent amongst the ranks, with many Decepticons choosing to remain scattered to the stars, rather than deign to live under Autobot rule. But it is my hope that Cybertron can once more be called home by all members of our species.

“Soundwave’s situation was . . . lucky for us.  Out of respect for his privacy, I will not go into much detail, but unlike his former allies, it was not difficult for us to locate him after the war.  And, as a former member of Decepticon high command, as well as Megatron’s most trusted ally, it is my belief that Soundwave has the ability to unite the disparate Decepticons, and bring as many of them as possible into Cybertron’s modern age.”  If that was what Optimus thought, then he was certainly in for a surprise.

“Further, these claims against him are not entirely unfounded.  Soundwave is extremely skilled; I have never seen him fail at a task in any of my dealings with him, over the course of the war, and prior.  In such a trying time, Soundwave’s competence will prove invaluable to the cause.”

It took several long seconds for Circuit to realize that Optimus was done speaking, but he was quick to cover for his moment of wonderment.  “But aren’t you afraid that he will try to start the war back up again?”

“I am not,” said Optimus, with a severity to his demeanor that would have alarmed any who didn’t know him.  “Soundwave, has never been proactively aggressive, and though he was loyal to Megatron, he is fully aware of the fact that, with Megatron gone, there is no reason to keep the war dragging on.  It is my sincerest belief that there is no mech better-suited to aid the Decepticons in their current plight than Soundwave.”

“Well then,” said Circuit, turning towards the camera.  “You heard it here first. Optimus Prime agrees with the council’s decision to add former Decepticon communications officer, Soundwave to their ranks.”  He turned back to Optimus. “Thank you so much for joining us today.”

“The pleasure is mine . . .”

<<Whoa!>> Jazz’s exclamation pulled Soundwave’s attention away from the broadcast.  He’d nearly forgotten that the other mech was still on the line at all. >>He really is influential, ain’t he???

Soundwave waited for the inevitable elaboration.

<<Got three messages voicing approval for your inclusion on the council already . . . actually, make that four.  Prowl and Springer are reporting similar results. Even after all this time, we ain’t broken outta that military mindset.  Wherever the Prime goes, the Autobots follow. No doubt, more will come. Things is lookin’ up for you, Sounders.”

Soundwave did not tell Jazz about his unwise decision to venture into that Decepticon chatroom, nor of how at least a fair number of Decepticons really  _ did _ want the war to return, nor of how dreadfully little influence Soundwave still had over his old comrades.  No doubt that horrible little excursion would come back to bite him in the aft later, but for now, he could hope that things weren’t so bad as they seemed - that those who haunted the chatroom were a minority, that despite his own missteps, he could still make a difference in this terrible new world.  And if nothing else, he could hope to work out a solution before anyone found out.

<<Anyway, that’s all I really had to say on the matter.  Be sure to thank Optimus when you see him - he really saved your aft.  Again. Anywho, later!>>

_ There _ was one more thing to be angry about.  After what he’d seen, Soundwave could understand why Optimus was not at the front and center of the political world, whether by his own decision or the council’s, but with only a handful of words, he’d completely reversed the opinions of a significant number of bots when it came to Soundwave’s presence, and that was a significant issue.  If that was the effect he had on a major issue, then what sort of ways could he influence Cybertron when it came to minutiae? Optimus had the power to single-handedly change the world for the better, and yet he did nothing. It was the ultimate act of cowardice and one Soundwave could not abide. It was easier to be angry at Optimus than himself anyway.

Yes, between the two, Optimus’s sins were far greater.  Soundwave was going to have to address the matter the next time he saw the Prime.  

He hated that a part of him was even looking forward to it.

~~~

The week passed by faster than Soundwave had been prepared for, and as Jazz had suggested, Optimus’s vote of approval had done a more than sufficient job of making its way across Iacon.  He may not have been receiving direct feedback from his constituents but he could still hear, mostly the words coming from the apartments of his neighbors. Even Bulkhead’s Wrecker friends begrudgingly sided with their Prime’s verdict.  And the voices on the Autobot forums and blogs also were generally supportive. The impression of his impending victory was such that, but the time Soundwave found himself seated in the middle of the New Oratory, surrounded by councilmechs and a camera crew, he was certain that the vote was already a foregone conclusion.  Still, the ceremony of the occasion was apparently something that the Autobots simply couldn’t pass up.

“Soundwave,” said Ultra Magnus, his voice filled with an overinflated sense of importance.  “Over this past week, we have heard from the people, learned of their feelings regarding your potential inclusion on this council.  As representatives of the average Cybertronian, it is our sworn duty to take into account their feelings when voting on any issue. Thus, if we vote to induct you into this council, then that is the will of the people, and likewise, if we dismiss your appointment, then that too, is because the people have demanded it.  Do you have any questions?”

Soundwave did.  This was an important day - Cybertron’s most influential figures were all in attendance, save for one.  Where was Optimus Prime?

He didn’t bother drawing anyone’s attention to the matter, however.  The last thing he wanted to do right now was further jeopardize his chances of just getting all of this nonsense over and done with.  So instead, he shook his head.

“Then let us begin,” said Ultra Magnus.  “To the members of the council, please input your decision into your terminal.”

It was all over quickly.  Out of the nine council mechs, only two denied him - his bets were on Elita One and Sky Lynx.  With the numbers in, he expected some sort of flashy Autobot ceremony filled with unnecessary pomp and circumstance.  What he got instead, were some sixteen forms sent to his temporary comm for approval, followed by a short speech from Ultra Magnus.

“With that, the matter is settled.  The people have spoken, and they want you to represent Iacon’s eighth District.  Soundwave, do you accept the responsibility - to lead the people, to serve as their voice, to fight for their best interests with all of you power?”

Jazz had coached him on this earlier; he’d already had the underwhelming sound clip that would serve as his answer queued up - though he again expressed his limited rebellion through Megatron’s distinctive voice, a fact which warranted some flinching from several of the present Autobots.

[[ I do. ]]

Even Ultra Magnus’s spark pulsed faster, his energy field flaring, trying to activate long-suppressed battle protocols.  Still, the treacherous sounds of his frame held no bearing on what he said next.

“Then Soundwave, welcome to the Transitional Council of New Cybertron.”


	9. Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave tries to adjust to his new role as a councilor, but how can he fulfill his duty if he can't even communicate with his mechs?

Nothing much changed for Soundwave during his early days on the council.  The firewalls remained in his head, and Laserbeak remained in his bed. The other members of the council, while for the most part, not outwardly resentful of him, never bothered to pay him any visits, and with council only meeting once a week, Soundwave found himself spending just as much time in his tower as he had before.  This time, however, he had the choice to leave. Sort of.

Despite his cooshy, new position of authority, it was clear that his colleagues still didn’t trust him, and wouldn’t be changing their tune for a long time coming.  Soundwave was allowed to go outside, technically, but he’d been ordered not to leave on his own, and after what he’d been through to earn his position on the council, he wasn’t about to openly defy them.  That being said, the need for an escort did present him with some difficulty.

He wanted to see the other Cons - needed to really.  The disastrous conversation he’d shared during their previous encounter had made it all too clear that, no matter how much research he performed, he could never accurately represent them if he couldn’t find any way for personal interaction.  Worse yet, there was now at least a subset of Decepticons who thought of him as a coward, or worse, a puppet of the Autobots. Showing up in District Eight with an Autobot entourage would do him no favors in convincing them otherwise. In that regard, he was stuck, and he suspected that, to some degree this was intentional.

If Soundwave was allowed private access to the other Decepticons, then who was to say that Soundwave wouldn’t try to restart the war, just as so many of those same Decepticons apparently wanted?  It was a frustrating situation to be thrown into, and a thankless one to boot. The world was a timebomb, packed with bitter resentment and overwhelming stress, and Soundwave was facing it alone. Laserbeak was all he had left to fight for, and Laserbeak wasn’t exactly responsive at the moment.  His existence was a lonely one, and he was beginning to worry just how long he could keep at it before it finally killed him.

_ “You have no time for such thoughts, Soundwave,” _ Megatron warned.   _ “You can think about your reward once the fighting is over.” _

Soundwave wished it were so, but even for him, it was difficult to keep up the fight for what felt like a pointless endeavor.

The council had yet to address any of his concerns, keeping up with their same old ‘the people don’t want it,’ tune that had always rang so hollow.  Still, he was one bot fighting against eight more, and though Jazz had offered his support, he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming in volunteering ways to proceed from here.  Soundwave needed a plan, and unfortunately, while he was many things, a strategist, he was not. He could think about cause and effect chains all day, but what did it matter if he couldn’t get anyone to listen to him in the first place?

What he needed to do was come up with a very specific plan.  Single out the most important issue targeting his comrades, and find the first easily-implemented step which could address that problem.   

Not for the first time, he wished Laserbeak was awake, though for once, the reasoning wasn’t entirely personal.  He needed eyes on the ground, and unable to get out himself, Laserbeak would have been the perfect candidate to see what the Decepticons were up to when he wasn’t looking.  But Laserbeak was still out of action, and Soundwave was still hopeless facing an impossible task. He had no one to rely upon, save for himself.

At the very least, he’d managed to worm his way back onto the Decepticon chat, albeit under a new handle.  The vetting process was more thorough this time, but no one knew more about the Decepticons than Soundwave.  All he had to do was pass himself off as Octopunch, vouch his undying loyalty for the cause, speak only in cleverly-disguised direct quotes to disguise his syntax glitch, and avoid chiming in about anything important.

Thankfully for him, the Decepticons rarely spoke of anything important these days.  All he had to do was complain about the price of energon, or the sickly stutter in his manufactured roommate’s vents as he slept, and he was golden.

While the chat was his only real direct link to his comrades, it wasn’t exactly useful.  As he’d quickly learned, a disturbingly large percentage of Decepticons lacked access to basic amenities, up to and including reliable communications networks.  The handful of mechs that frequented the chat were already among the privileged - Tankor ran a bar out of District Eight; Solar Storm was engaged in playing two-faced consort with a neutral; Sinnertwin was the presiding force over a fast-growing black market; Runamuck was a champion in the underground racing circuit, and so on and so forth.  But most Decepticons couldn’t make their way into such positions of relative prestige no matter how hard they fought. Whatever they were saying out there, it wouldn’t be in a chat room on a communications network set up by the Autobots.

That wouldn’t be a terrible first issue to tackle, come to think of it.  

~~~

_ District 8 Crime Rate:  26% _

_ District 8 Unemployment:  22% _

_ District 8 Indigency:  32% _

_ Drug Abuse Rates:  39% _

_ Incarcerated Individuals:  160 _

_ Happiness Rating:  1.3 _

_ Constituent Messages to District 8 Representative: 0 _

Reactions were mixed to the report he’d forwarded to each member of the council.  He’d worked hard to find those statistics, and his efforts seemed to be paying off.  At least half of the room was displaying signs of distress, upon seeing the abysmal numbers.  The other half was either indifferent or unnaturally good at controlling the expression of emotions through their frame (though the latter likely only applied to Jazz).  Regardless of what his colleagues felt, the data was certain to spark at least some sort of discussion.

“Huh,” sighed Springer, “that’s really bleak.”

“One has to wonder where he got such information - it seems a little  _ too _ bleak,” Elita One added, though oddly Soundwave could hear a desperate wave of denial in the hum of her EM field.  This wasn’t honesty; it was posturing. Interesting.

Soundwave was on the verge of citing up his sources, but Perceptor beat him to it.  “The unemployment, drug abuse, and indigency rates are from a study published by Scattershot and Lightspeed two months ago.  The crime and incarceration statistics are pulled from the most recent numbers on the Department of Justice’s database. The happiness index was likely ascertained by plugging these data into the standard equation used to determine such.  It is all publicly-available information, if you know what to look for.”

Aileron offered him an incredulous look.  “You recognize all of that off the top of your head?”

Perceptor’s spark gave a jolt of alarm, before he sank back into his seat.  What did he have to be embarrassed for? It was actually Ultra Magnus to respond for him.  “Honestly, all of us should be able to recognize the sources of the data. It is our job as representatives of the people to understand the scope of the challenges that affect them.  These statistics are a direct measure of our own success or failure in leadership. We need to take them seriously.”

“Touché,” Aileron said, maintaining a neutral demeanor, even as she wilted on the inside.

“Though I do admit,” Ultra Magnus added, “the fact that you haven’t received a single message yet is troubling.  With such abysmal statistics, compounded with your own prestige amongst your ki - er, the Decepticons, I would have anticipated more of a response.”  He frowned, a refreshingly genuine reaction from a councilmech.

“It is not so unusual, I think,” Perceptor said, to Soundwave’s immense gratitude.  He’d undoubtedly come to the same conclusion Soundwave had; now they could get somewhere, and Soundwave hadn’t even needed to waste time compiling a second report!  “It is an oversight on our part, but Cybertron has been operating under a new communications network built upon the foundation of the Autobot comm channels, and there have been outreach programs to get the incoming neutrals set up on the new system.  However, the infrastructure is incompatible with the system the Decepticons were using during the war - a system that they are likely still using, as there has not been any outreach in Decepticons neighborhoods on that front.”

“There has been,” Prowl corrected.  “But the Decepticons have by and large been uncooperative.”

“To be fair,” said Windblade, “comm installation does put you in a vulnerable position.  I wouldn’t trust my long-time enemy to install something in my head either.”

“So you see, the issue is not so simple as setting up new comms for every Decepticon in the city, a feat that is far less feasible now than it was two years ago - from booming population numbers alone.”

And there they were: right back to where they’d started.  The circular nature of politics was maddening. Every course of action came with obstacles and consequences, of course, but at this rate, nothing was ever going to get accomplished.  How was he going to get through to them?

[[ The system the Decepticons were using during the war, ]] Soundwave repeated, still in the process of formulating his plan.

“Yes?” said Prowl, stuffy as ever.  “What about it?”

A high-pitched ping rang through the room, as a new message appeared on nine different screens at once.

_ Base-Model: Adaptus VII _

_ Base Operating Language: Neo-Helexian Quaternary  _

_ Glyph Set: Kao-Yuss Basic Script _

. . .

“What’s all this?” Springer asked, cocking his head at the growing list of specifications that flooded the screen of his terminal.

“It appears to be design schematics for what I assume to be the standard Decepticon comm unit,” said Perceptor.

“What are we supposed to do with that?” Sky Lynx frowned.  “Build a new system from scratch that is compatible? That is even more difficult.”

What Sky Lynx proposed was indeed difficult, but it was better than nothing.  He pulled up some choice words in response. [[ If we continue to interact with one another as though the war had never ended, then the war will never truly be over. ]]  There was little better at commanding the attention of a room full of ex-Autobots than the voice of Optimus Prime.

“It’s going to have to happen sooner or later,” Jazz shrugged.  “We may as well get started on it now.”

“It can be arranged,” Perceptor said, tapping away at the tablet in front of him.  “However, a project like that is going to take time - months, at least - and that is just for a prototype.  That still discounts the further months of testing and tweaking needed to pull off something like this, and that doesn’t begin to scratch the surface of the amount of time and money required to implement it.”

“Time and money should be no issue,” Windblade said, although she was hesitant.  “No cost is too high, if it means the continued survival of our species.”

“The question then becomes where this money will come from.  The average Cybertronian is not going to want to spend money on Decepticon welfare,” Prowl noted.

“No,” agreed Elita One, “but nor do any of us want the war to start again.  As much as I hate the Decepticons, I have no problem throwing money at solutions that will keep them from revolutionizing again.”  It was a surprisingly admirable admission coming from a mech who had shown Soundwave and his former allies nothing but scorn from day one.

“We can create a committee to address fundraising for this project,” said Ultra Magnus, in that authoritative tone of his.  “Elita, Windblade, and Sky Lynx can spearhead it, provided there are no objections.” There were none. “In the meantime, however, we need a temporary solution to this problem.  In our current state, we may not last the amount of time needed to implement this potential fix. At the very least, Soundwave needs to be able to do his job.”

Soundwave was really beginning to hate problem-solving via committee.  He was so much more efficient when he worked alone - would still be, had the Autobots not crippled his processor.  Worse yet, working with others meant, not only keeping pace with his inferiors, but finding increasingly difficult ways to communicate without a voice.  He honestly wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep it up. Without perceptive mechs like Jazz and Perceptor on the council, he would have been unable to share his thoughts at all.  What would happen when they weren’t around? A question for another time, perhaps.

While his colleagues painstakingly argued what-ifs and tangential issues, Soundwave, as always, was working ten steps ahead.  This time, he used a chime to draw their attention back to their monitors where the specs of his old comm were still displayed.

“Yes, Soundwave, we’ve seen it, and we’re discussing solutions - just as you’ve requested,” said Prowl, a tired edge in his voice.  “So unless you have something worthwhile to add to the discussion . . .”

Soundwave extended a data cable, pointing at the comm specs on the overhead projection, frustrated with the misunderstanding.  How could he make himself more clear?

“Have you been paying attention, Con?” Elita growled.  “We’re working on it.”

Primus, this lot was slow on the uptake.  He fixed Jazz with a meaningful look, hoping he’d get the idea, but judging by the pinched expression on his face, and thoughtful thrum of his fingers on his desk, he hadn’t yet.  At least he wasn’t so patronizing as to assume Soundwave hadn’t been following along with this much-too-long conversation.

“I take it there’s more to these specs we’re not getting,” he sighed at last.

Soundwave nodded, resigning himself to the incoming guessing game.

“Where did you acquire them?” Prowl asked, surprisingly perceptive for once.  “It’s all very specific - the sort of information that would be saved on one’s own drives - though most bots wouldn’t bother wasting space on irrelevant information like this.”

Jazz picked it up surprisingly quickly from there.  “Unless it happened to be your own comm maybe?” he ventured.  As a reward for a good answer, Soundwave played a chime from some old game show, easily recognized as the signal for a correct guess.

“Ah, so that’s it,” Jazz laughed.  “Hey Percy, how hard would it be to get Soundwave access to his old comm?”

Percepter frowned, again, flipping through the screens in front of him.  “Not very, provided we are fine with any potential security concerns that may be incurred in the process.”

Several council members exchanged uncertain looks.  Already, Soundwave knew where this would be going - he’d been privy to this conversation before.  He was simply too powerful, and the council, despite wanting to use him as their pawn, absolutely did not trust him.  There had to be a way to curtail the impending waste of time before it began; the last thing he wanted to do right now was listen to the smug monsters bicker over him again.

“The Decepticons do need to be able to communicate with Soundwave if he is to do his job,” Ultra Magnus said, slowly.

“And I don’t think I need to remind you why giving him unrestricted access to his old buddies is a bad idea,” Elita One shot back.  That was the opening he needed.

[[ Unrestricted access, ]] Soundwave repeated, and then, with some hasty editing, added, [[ Restricted access. ]]

“What, like you’re not gonna try and find a way around whatever surveillance system we put in place?” Elita replied, fixing a pointed glare on him.  Presumably she was not too pleased to find him using her own voice.

“What choice do we got?” Jazz sighed, shaking his head.  “We can keep right on suppressing Con dissent because we’re afraid that this guy right here - who is not exactly known for his end game scheming - is gonna plot with a bunch of underlings to start the war again.  Or, we could try to actually make a difference.” He folded his arms and swiveled his chair away from the rest of the room, a rather childish action, but Soundwave couldn’t blame him for it. The rest of the council was equally childish, if not in the same way.

“I seem to recall,” sniffed Sky Lynx, “that he and Megatron were the driving force behind the revolution in the first place.”

“Yes,” said Prowl, his eyes fixed on Jazz, though it was Sky Lynx that he was speaking to.  Perhaps he was picking up the torch where Jazz had dropped it. How admirable. “He and  _ Megatron _ .  But I can guarantee you that Megatron was the dreamer between the two of them.”

“What does that mean?” Aileron asked, curious rather than accusative.

“It means that I ran Autobot Intelligence for the vast majority of the war; that amongst the Autobots, I know more about the way the Decepticons worked than anyone else; and that never - not once during the past forty thousand years - have we witnessed Soundwave acting of his own accord.  He is a formidable right-hand mech - great at knowing what to do to see a dream realized, but he never was the guy dreaming the dream itself.”

Prowl may not have been watching him, but Soundwave fixed a cold stare on the presumptuous bot nonetheless.  He may not have been wrong, exactly - Soundwave was a born follower; he’d been created to do af much, but that didn’t mean that he wanted someone making judgements about his personality in front of a room full of enemies.

“Look,” said Ultra Magnus, complete with an awkward, tension-breaking cough.  “Jazz is right. Reactivating Soundwave’s old comm is the best chance we have of mitigating any potential Decepticon threat before it starts.  With the firewalls we put in place, I don’t see him easily throwing off any surveillance we have on him, so let’s not waste time debating it. 

“Perceptor, please reactivate Soundwave’s commlink, and have it redirect through Jazz’s.  I trust we can all agree that Jazz is sufficiently capable of telling the difference between duty and sabotage.  Do we agree?”

Throughout the room came a chorus of non-committal affirmations, but the half-hearted reply was enough for Ultra Magnus.  “Good. Then let’s move on.”

~~~

To his own surprise, Soundwave was genuinely relieved to see Bumblebee’s face after that miserable council session.  He still bore no fondness for that pesky Autobot, but it didn’t matter. Bumblebee would be taking him home - back to Laserbeak, and away from trying to convince his enemies to let him have basic liberties.  He would ultimately be getting access to his comm back, a small victory after a huge undertaking, but it wouldn’t be immediate. As it turned out, Perceptor was a busy mech; he had no time to sort out Soundwave’s head until next week, and so, Soundwave would have to remain in the dark for a little longer yet.  For now, it was the best offer he was going to get. 

He slid into the air cab back to the Towers a little more quickly than usual, though if Bumblebee noticed, he made no comment.  It was for the better. Soundwave didn’t want to deal with the chipper little murderer right now; he was in too foul a mood to be bothered.  For his part, Bumblebee did seem to pick up on this, at least for a little while. It took several long minutes of sitting in the silent cab before the mech even bothered speaking up.  “So, it looks like Optimus is coming back from Earth tomorrow.”

Soundwave averted his gaze from the window to focus on the irritating little bot and his strange comment.  Why had he bothered sharing such a thing, least of all now, when Soundwave was in so foul a temper? 

Bumblebee’s spark pulsed faster, and he winced, ever so slightly, clearly having second thoughts on his decision to speak up after finding an empty stare and menacing EM field sent his way.  Anxiety didn’t stop him from elaborating, however. “What I mean is - if you wanted to talk to him or anything, he’ll be back on planet. I - er - I can’t speak for you, obviously, but I do get the impression that Optimus, at least, enjoys your company.  I think it would be good for the two of you to meet up.”

That certainly hadn’t been the answer Soundwave was expecting.  Cocking his head, he pulled up Prowl’s warning from a week prior.  [[ What has me worried, however, is how much of his extracurricular time he’s devoted to you ; There is a very real risk that he’s been compromised. ]]

“Well, that sounds like Prowl,” Bumblebee laughed, a mask for the anxiety that pulsed through his frame.  “But he thinks too much.” Soundwave wasn’t sure if that was possible, but he didn’t bother objecting. 

“I mean, call him compromised if you want, or whatever, maybe it’s true.  What do I know? I wasn’t the Autobots’ lead strategist, and there’s a reason for that.  But what’s it matter? Speaking as his  _ friend _ , I think spending time with you is good for him.  He’s always been a kinda - er - sad guy, and it’s only gotten worse since the war ended.  But after talking with you, he always seems - well, not happier, exactly, but a lot more engaged.  He’s invested in this Decepticon thing - invested in  _ you _ .  If it gives him a reason to get up in the morning, then it’s good enough for me.

“Besides,” he added with a wan smile, “and maybe I’m overstepping my bounds here, but out of all of us Autobots, I don’t think there’s anyone who understands you as easily as he does.  Maybe having him around is good for you too?”

It was presumptuous of him, but Soundwave couldn’t exactly refute the statement.  Optimus Prime was infuriating, a coward who would rather play House back on Earth than clean up the mess he was, in part, responsible for, on Cybertron, but Bumblebee wasn’t wrong; no Autobot - Pit, no one on modern Cybertron, could understand him, and his stubborn refusal to speak, quite so well as Optimus.  He didn’t know if it was their shared history that was responsible, or some side effect of the Matrix, but it certainly made Optimus easier to deal with than most. It was refreshing in a way, as he’d been forced to stretch the limits of his creativity in communicative methods lately.

“What’s that?” Bumblebee asked, staring into Soundwave’s visor, and at the data that had popped up on its void-like surface.  Soundwave had no intention of answering, but Bumblebee was at least smart enough to figure it out without too much delay. “Wait, is this a calendar?”  He pulled his large, lifeless optics away from the display to focus elsewhere - Soundwave’s chin, apparently, as if that were a substitute for ordinary eye contact.  “Is this your schedule?”

Soundwave nodded.

“And you’re showing it to me, because . . .” he trailed off, working through the puzzle as he spoke.  “You want me to . . . schedule a meeting between you and Optimus?” Even if he’d managed to keep the worry from his face, he could not have hidden the soft squeak of tension in his shoulders, the clatter of drooping doorwings, the racing of the fuel in his lines.  Bumblebee was clearly uncomfortable playing this guessing game, but lucky for him, he’d guessed right. Soundwave nodded his approval, and the change in Bumblebee’s demeanor was instant. The tension melted out of his frame, and he even managed a smile.

“How about, Novasol?  Eighth cycle?”

One more nod.

“Perfect!  I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you!”

Soundwave had his doubts, of course, but he wasn’t going to bother highlighting them.  As far as he was concerned, he’d done his duty; there was nothing more to talk about. The remainder of the cab ride remained wordless, but it was far from quiet, not with Bumblebee’s frame buzzing cheerfully across from him.  Somehow, this time, Soundwave didn’t mind.

~~~

Despite the small progress he’d made with the council, the week’s delay in comm access was causing more difficulty than he would have liked to admit.  He needed to hear from the Decepticons, particularly during this controversial transitional period, and he wasn’t about to sit around for the next ten days, waiting for things to get worse.  Fortunately, he’d managed to come up with a plan that could help him in the short term..

The chat server had been his only contact with his former comrades thus far, so it was the best place to begin his search, unsatisfactory a source as it was.  He’d already been made abundantly aware of the problems in speaking with such a small subset of his faction. But the people who frequented the server themselves weren’t a bad place to proceed.  Biased and blessed they may have been, but these mechs still lived primarily in District Eight, surrounded by other Decepticons. All he needed was to find one mech to operate as his eyes and ears on the street, and he already had a candidate in mind.

Though 22ZE6 had been banned during Soundwave’s first visit to the room, Soundwave still remembered him clearly.  The Vehicon hadn’t been around for Soundwave’s fall from grace in the eyes of the server. He would be easy to find, easy to sway to his cause, and as a Vehicon, he’d have no problem with discretion.  There really was no better choice.

<< _ 22ZE6 >>   _ The private message had directly been sent to the Vehicon in question’s comm, much to the surprise of the mech in question.

_ << What?  Who is this? >>   _

_ << Inquiry: status of Decepticon faction?>> _

_ <<Soundwave?  Is that you?>> _

_ <<Affirmative.>> _

Much to Soundwave’s relief, his admission didn’t immediately derail the attempt at information gathering.   _ <<Of course, sir!  Glad to hear from you sir!  What exactly would you like to know?>> _

He’d always loved how eager to please the Vehicons were, though he tried to shake off the bitter aftertaste of realization that came with the notion.  Convenient they may have been, but he’d be the first to acknowledge the moral threshold Decepticon high command had crossed when it came to their creation and utilization.  

_ << Observation: number of Decepticons contact has been made with: five.  Number of Decepticons confirmed to desire the return of the war: four. Inquiry: sentiment widespread?>> _

22ZE6 took a long time to answer, enough so that Soundwave had time to move from the holocaster to Laserbeak’s bed, provide a few adjustments for comfort, and return.  

_ <<I wouldn’t say  _ that _ , sir.  I think it depends on who you’re talking to.  A lot of the frontliners and Seekers want the war back, of course, but I don’t really blame them.  Fighting is all they’ve had the chance to get good at. But us Vehicons? We’re mostly pretty happy that the war’s over.  It’s nice, you know? Not having to constantly fear for your life. There are others too - a lot of the officer-types - y’know, the ones who had things to fall back on?  They’re not happy, but none of them are holding out for Lord Starscream to come back and save us either.>> _

Starscream?  Saviour of the of the Decepticons?  What a laugh. He’d never garnered much respect while he was around.  Competent or not, everyone knew full-well how Starscream had gotten the position of second in command through less-than-honorable means.  And his fall from dignity hadn’t exactly been a graceful, nor private, for that matter. If the Decepticons were relying on  _ Starscream _ to come back and restart the war, then the situation really was dire.

_ <<Though I think most officers up and disappeared themselves, rather than come back to a Cybertron without Lord Megatron.  I don’t blame them for that, sir. It hasn’t exactly been easy here.>> _

Clearly not, though knowing as much told him nothing new.  < _ <Inquiry: percentage of Decepticons in favor of restarting the war?>> _

< _ <Oh, uh . . . I dunno, sir.  I’m no good at cramming numbers on the spot like you are, and it’s not like I’m just like, regularly hanging out with y’know, like, all of the Decepticons, so . . .>> _

_ <<Estimate.>> _

_ <<Um . . . I  don’t - 48% maybe?  It’s like, I think it’s a little less than half, but like I said, I really wouldn’t make judgments based on my observations.  Mostly I go from my place to work, the space bridge terminal, in case you were wondering, and back. I don’t really mingle. Nobody wants to mingle with a Vehicon.>> _

Indeed, 22ZE6’s limited observations were no more damning than Soundwave’s own, but it did grant him some peace of mind to hear that there was no great unified movement of rebelling Decepticons to deal with.  Not yet, anyway. That was as good as he was going to get for now.

_ <<Is it true what the press is saying?  Are you really on the council to help us?>> _

_ <<Affirmative,>> _ Soundwave replied after a pause of his own.  He didn’t want to reveal too much of his own struggles and tribulations, not to a civilian who’d already proven himself a rumor-monger in past conversations.  But if 22ZE6 was the only help he could expect for the time being, then he was going to have to offer up something in return.  _ <<However, current access to Decepticon public: limited.  Possession of first-hand information: invaluable. Assistance: requested.>> _

_ <<You’re asking  _ me _ sir?  Of course!  It’s an honor to serve you sir!  I’ll do whatever it is you need! >> _

Again, Soundwave was grateful for the unending loyalty of the Vehicons.  His spark gave a small, quickly-squashed flicker of pride.  _ <<Operation: observe behaviors and philosophies exhibited by Decepticons and in majority-Decepticon spaces.  Report to me daily.>> _

_ <<Yes sir!  I won’t let you down, sir!>> _ he said, before flickering out, the conversation ended.

It was all painfully nostalgic, as though he was giving orders to his own Symbionts again.  He spared a glance for Laserbeak; how much longer would he remain asleep for? When would Knock Out get back to him; it had been so long already.  He feared if they waited much longer, Laserbeak may never wake at all.

_ “Don’t think like that, Soundwave,”  _ Megatron whispered, wrapping an arm around Soundwave’s waist and drawing him in close.  “ _ Laserbeak will be fine; he’s got you watching over him, after all.  Save your attention for the matter at hand.” _

The matter at hand was being managed as best he could, for the time being.  The council was sure to be cross if they found he’d taken matters into his own hands, but even if they stumbled upon his conversation with 22ZE6, it didn’t exactly contain any damning content.  He was fine. He was doing fine. Everything would be fine. And while everything was working itself out to the finest state it could be, Soundwave was left with a little bit of free time, free time with which he could spend dealing with Bumblebee, who was approaching his door with strangely timid steps.  Soundwave let it slide open before the kid even had a chance to knock.

“Ah, hey Soundwave,” he greeted, stepping inside.  “How’s it going?”

Soundwave didn’t bother acknowledging such an inane question.

“Right,” said Bumblebee, frame deflating and confidence retreating.  “So um, anyway, I tried to get ahold of Optimus for your meeting, but he hasn’t been answering his comm for some reason; I’m not sure why.”

That admission got Soundwave’s attention, at least.  He hated the sharp sting of betrayal it left burning at his fuel tanks.  He may not have liked Optimus, but Soundwave had at least been looking forward to letting the Prime know the exact degree to which he did not like him.  Losing that small privilege was a blow that, while trivial, still hurt all the same. His frame stiffened, but he didn’t turn to greet Bumblebee.

“That being said,” said Bumblebee, and Soundwave cursed the way his frame perked up at those three, stupid words.  “I’m pretty sure I know where he is. If you got a little more time, I can take you to his place.”

Surely even Bumblebee could feel the curiosity flowing off of Soundwave’s frame in waves.  At last, his blank face met those oversized optics, an invitation to continue.

Bumblebee frowned, not entirely happy to be trapped under that gaze, and clearly unsure of what it was Soundwave wanted to hear.  So he took a guess. “I think - I’m sure he has his reasons for cutting off communication, but I’m worried about him. Having you pay him a visit may help though, at least that’s what I think.  He’s been acting strange lately, and I don’t like it, so whatever opportunity I have to intervene, I’m gonna take.” There was fear present in his frame, but for once, it wasn’t directed at Soundwave.  This was something distant, something abstract, something a little more respectable. 

“So uh, what do you think?  Do you wanna come?

Soundwave responded by crawling to his feet, and crossing the room to join Bumblebee.  It would be nice to get out of the house anyway.

~~~

Apparently, Optimus Prime was staying in an old cathedral on the outskirts of Iacon.  Judging by its dull pallor, shattered windows, and rough surface, it likely hadn’t been touched since the end of the war, not an uncommon sight in this as-yet unincorporated part of town.  The drab environment painted a pitiable image, appropriate for their current Prime.

“I’m not sure why he likes this place so much; I think it’s kinda spooky myself, but he’s always out here when he’s not working.  He’s almost definitely in here now.”

Soundwave would have been annoyed, being brought all the way to the edge of town, guided by nothing more than a whim, but he could hear signs of life from inside the cathedral - faint - but there nonetheless.  Someone was inside, and he couldn’t imagine anyone other than Optimus choosing to call this place home.

Bumblebee scurried on ahead, pulling open the oversized front doors of the cathedral, which gave a piercing shriek of protest, causing both parties to wince.  This place grew more and more pathetic by the moment. At least that sound was impossible to miss; the inhabitant of the hall began to move, approaching the entrance, and voicing a deep, sonorous, “Who’s there?”

“I thought you might be here,” Bumblebee greeted, casually, as though this sort of strange scenario was anything but.  “You weren’t answering your comms, and I’d already told Soundwave he could meet up with you. I didn’t wanna break my promise.  So I thought I’d bring him to you.”

Spurred by Bumblebee’s explanation, Optimus peered around the door, taking in the sight of his visitors.  While his raised optical ridges indicated surprise, his frame gave no corresponding sound - only the sense of serenity he constantly exuded.  “Soundwave,” he said, tilting his head. “It is surprising to see you here, but you are welcome, nonetheless.” He stepped aside, beckoning the pair of them inside.

If the exterior had been dreary, the interior was even worse.  There was no primary light source in the hall, and though there were windows, most had been boarded up from the inside, leaving only slight trickles of illumination to see by.  The floor was devoid of furniture, but did carry the occasional collapsed rafter or pile of broken glass. This building truly had been untouched since the war; Soundwave had to wonder just how safe he was in such a broken-down pit, and judging by the creaks of tension produced by Bumblebee’s careful movements, he wasn’t alone in this sentiment.

Optimus led the pair to a chamber at the cathedral’s heart, presumably Optimus’s living quarters, given its condition compared to the rest of the building.  While it was still dark and gloomy, Optimus had managed to partially activate the old floor lights that ran around the circumference of the room, casting the space in a pale blue - not much to see by, but no worse than the Nemesis had been.  Buried at the room’s far curve was a bed, a storage cabinet for energon, and a shelf overflowing with data pads, the only sign of luxury in this otherwise spartan space. Soundwave would have found it hard to believe that anyone lived here, but doing so would have been hypocritical.

“Wow,” gasped Bumblebee, “you live here?”

“Yes, Bumblebee, I do,” was Optimus’s reply, neutral as the rest of him.  “I’m afraid that I am not accustomed to receiving guests here, but I do have some energon in the cabinet, if you are hungry.”

Bumblebee shook his head.  “No, I’m okay. Sorry to bother you; I’m sure you have a good reason for not taking any calls, but I - um - I promised.”

“It is alright, Bumblebee.  I admit, I was feeling overwhelmed from my time on Earth, and wanted to take some time to reacclimate myself to Cybertron, but as Prime, my duties should always come first.  I apologize for my selfishness.” It was difficult to make heads or tails of the Prime’s words. Either he was being sincere, and really was the most pathetic bot on the planet, or he’d mastered the art of passive aggressive jabs.  Whatever his intent, there was no denying the guilt that poured off of Bumblebee in response.

“Oh!  Scrap I -  I’m so sorry, Optimus.  I didn’t even think about that.  We can leave if you want - come back another time?”

Optimus shook his head.  “You’ve come so far to be here.  It would be a waste if you left without what you seek.”  Whatever that was. Soundwave wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted from this encounter, but he did know that he wanted it.

“Right!” Bumblebee gave a forceful laugh.  “Well, I’d hate to take up too much of your time, so I’ll go get a little bit of air, and leave the two of you to chat.  How’s that sound?”

Sad, cyan eyes fell upon Soundwave, and lingered, unreadable as ever.  Soundwave hated it.

“That is fine by me, if Soundwave finds it agreeable.”

Bumblebee didn’t wait to see if Soundwave found it agreeable.  Instead, he said, “Great! I’ll be back in a bit then,” and scurried back the way they’d come.  Now it was Soundwave and Optimus, alone in this oversized, empty room. A heavy silence stretched between them, as Optimus seemed disinclined to speak, and Soundwave simply didn’t speak, but the silence spoke enough for the both of them.

There was a distance between them, both physically, as they stood on opposite sides of this massive chamber, and otherwise.  Neither wanted to initiate contact. Optimus, the face of everything that was wrong with Cybertron, and Soundwave’s number one enemy for the last forty thousand years, had first saved his life, and then blackmailed him into an impossible situation, and no amount of consolatory kindness could make up for that.  But what was Optimus thinking? He was every bit as disinclined to communicate, to share his thoughts, to even look at the room’s other occupant. Guilt, perhaps?

_ “Of course it’s guilt,” _ said Megatron, closing the distance between the pair in Soundwave’s stead.  He stalked around his long-time foe, a predatory grin on his lips, but his eyes were on Soundwave.  “ _ It always has been his biggest flaw.  Why do you think he never could kill me?  The real reason. We may have been a near equal match in power, as much as I hate to admit it, but there were many times when he bested me in combat.  And yet, in the end, it was his little scout to do the deed. _ ”  He laughed, briefly averting his gaze towards the door that Bumblebee had disappeared through.

_ “But he knows exactly what he’s done to you, and he hates himself for it.  He pities you just as he pitied me, but really, the only one here worthy of pity is  _ him _.” _

“Is everything alright, Soundwave?”

Optimus’s voice had been unexpected; even a mech as hyper-aware as Soundwave, was caught off-guard.  He flinched, jerking his head the miniscule distance required to provide the Prime his undivided attention.  Small though that distance had been, however, Optimus undoubtedly noticed. He wondered what that oh-so-perceptive mech must have thought.

_ “It doesn’t matter what he thinks, Soundwave.  You really must cure yourself of this . . . infatuation of yours.  Optimus Prime may be a welcome sight after butting heads with the council all week, but he is still the enemy.” _

“I can only imagine what you must think of me, Soundwave,” Optimus said, drowning out Megatron’s deafening whispers.  “We have been enemies for so long now,” he mused. “But when thrown into the lion’s den, I feel I may have become the lesser evil - the enemy you know, and the enemy you know how to deal with.”  

It was a strange enough thing to say that Soundwave couldn’t help but look to Megatron for guidance, but his former leader only returned an uncertain shrug.  Was Megatron’s ghost real after all - if Optimus had heard him, then surely he must be. But it was no less likely that Optimus was simply an expert at anticipating whatever it was Soundwave was thinking.  Whatever the case, Soundwave didn’t want to think too hard on this particular subject.

“But I do not wish to be your enemy at all.”

No, of course not.  Optimus never had wanted to be enemies.  Not forty thousand years ago, and not now.  Wanting something didn’t make it so, however.  Soundwave turned his face to the side, breaking eye contact with Optimus and Megatron alike.

“I know you must bear me some animosity, Soundwave, for how I left you for so long in this tumultuous time, left you to face the council on your own, and though I know it will not mean much coming from me, I do wish to commend you.  Despite the way the odds have been stacked against you, you have done an excellent job of presenting yourself to the public. I was particularly impressed with the speech you made. It was very clever.”

The worst thing about receiving praise from Optimus was the pride that swelled up within his chest upon hearing it.  He’d done well, just as he always did, persevering in the face of excruciating odds. But this was the first time he’d been praised for it since arriving on Cybertron.  Megatron had always made sure to commend his good work; he hated how much he’d grown to miss such a trivial thing.

Soundwave stalked forward, shaking off the praise, shaking off the relief, the gratitude, every feeling he had regarding Optimus Prime, save for the resentment that had been pooling within him over these past weeks.  He was here for a reason, and he was beginning to piece together just what he wanted that reason to be.

[[ I left you for so long in this tumultuous time, ]] Soundwave repeated, stopping just within arm’s reach of the Prime, followed by a more to-the-point remix.  [[ I left; in this tumultuous time. ]] He stood before Optimus, his frame tensed, aggressive, ready for a battle. If Optimus could notice minute changes in Soundwave’s line of sight from a distance, he no doubt could understand the meaning behind his current position.

Indeed, Optimus Prime, being the coward that he was, averted his gaze to the floor in shame.  Always ashamed this one - it was just as Megatron had said.

_ “I can’t believe I lost to this piece of work.  He can’t even face you when he knows he’s done wrong,”  _ Megatron sneered, sliding from Optimus’s side to plant himself at Soundwave’s.  Now was a moment for solidarity, not mockery.

“I have no excuse,” Optimus said, every word uttered with care.  “Certainly not one that will be good enough for you. I imagine that you know full-well why I have been absent on Cybertron of late, or you at least have a guess.”  His eyes lifted, meeting Soundwave’s face once more. “You must think me a coward - that I would rather dedicate my attention to helping our allies on Earth with their internal conflicts than lead our Cybertronian brethren.  And you would be right. 

“The situation on Earth, a situation that we, in part, caused, is dreadful, and certainly we have a responsibility to see to it, but there is no reason that it must be me specifically to handle the affair.  And yet, I keep going back, because I prefer it there. The Earth conflict is more simple, more easily managed, and has the potential to be far less catastrophic than trying to lead the reconstruction movement on Cybertron.  Yes, I am selfish. I have led the Autobots in war for the past forty thousand years, I gave up my identity, my soul to do so, and still, there is no rest. I am tired, but the work never ends.”

Soundwave found it hard to relate, or perhaps, all too easy.  He’d fought just as long as Optimus, had worked harder, and sacrificed more.  He may not have been the leader of his faction, but he was no less tired. Before he could search his drives for a suitable reply, however, Optimus was continuing.

“That being said, you would be mistaken to think that my actions are entirely selfish, nor that they are taken without the permission of the new leaders of our world.”

Admittedly, he hadn’t been expecting that particular admission.  In retrospect, he should have. Optimus had made it fully clear that he existed at the whim of the council, but it had never quite sunk in just how much of a hold they held on him.

“As Prowl put it, my word still carries much weight with the former Autobots of Cybertron.  Even the neutrals, by and large, hold me in high esteem, from the influence of my position as Prime alone.  As such, I have the unique ability to commit dramatic gestures, as I did when I voiced my support for you following your speech, and for the time being, my will is enough to sway public opinion.  Though I do acknowledge that such a strategy is unsustainable in the long run. All it takes is one unpopular opinion, one botched scheme, one mistake, and the infallible Prime loses all credibility.

“I’m not a perfect person, Soundwave,” he sighed, slumping against the cabinet at his back, and looking for all the world like an actual mech, rather than the unfeeling demigod he so often came off as.  “I know I don’t need to tell you that, but there are many who believe it anyway.” With a sad smile, he added, “I’m not even a particularly good leader. My followers always respected my integrity and kindness, but only those closest knew the truth - that wars are not won with integrity and kindness.

“I can espouse palatable ideals, but when it comes down to it, I am incapable of taking pragmatic approaches to threats, least of all when doing so would compromise my moral integrity.  I spent the war letting Jazz and Prowl run wild, turning a blind eye to their more unsavory schemes, while trusting they knew what was needed in order to win, and they did. It was through their decision making that we persevered in the face of overwhelming odds, time and again.  In a sense, they were the true leaders of the Autobots, while I willingly reduced myself to a figurehead, as I am doing now.

“The truth is, I am afraid.  I know that I cannot be the leader Cybertron needs me to be.  I know that I cannot make everyone happy, nor keep everyone safe, and I know that this is unacceptable.  The Prime is supposed to have all of the answers. The Prime is supposed to be above mortal failings.” Unconsciously, his fingers fiddled with the clasps on the door of the energon cabinet, purposeless, never opening it, but unable to still themselves.  The fidgeting did more to instill sympathy for the Prime in Soundwave than any kindness he’d ever offered. 

“The more I falter - the more I am  _ seen _ to falter, and the more I am forced into making questionable decisions, or otherwise refuse to make them, the more the people will lose faith in me, and the less I will be able to contribute.  And so I make myself scarce. I limit my participation in politics, in a desperate attempt to prolong my own relevance. After all, my greatest fear is becoming not merely a figurehead, but one who is helpless to stave off the inevitable wave of corruption that will plague any sufficiently large society.  We all know what happened to Zeta Prime before me. I can’t help but wonder if the same fate awaits me.”

Soundwave had known Optimus for a long time.  He could still remember Orion Pax, bright-eyed and naive, standing in a back room of Kaon’s coliseum, genuinely pouring out his every star-struck thought to Megatron and his predatory inner circle.  In all that time, even back in the early days before he’d bonded with the Matrix, before he had traded his soul to the ancients to save his followers, he had never once appeared so vulnerable as he was now.  Soundwave had always known Optimus to be a pathetic creature, but he’d never realized just how deep the roots of weakness ran. How had Megatron lost to him?

_ “The faithful are the first to follow fools blindly.” _

Soundwave sank backwards into Megatron’s comforting embrace.  The entire war had been a farce - the righteous cause with an ugly face had lost to an ugly cause with a righteous face.  What a backwards world this was. Soundwave hated it. He hated that he’d sacrificed everything for nothing. He hated that the visionary Megatron was dead, and that Cybertron’s fate was left in the hands of a wishy-washy Prime.  He hated that he was functionally alone in a world that was against him, without the freedom to even act in his own best interests. He hated that he was forced to fight for a cause that he struggled just to believe in, while Optimus could shirk all of his own responsibilities in his cowardice.  And he hated Optimus Prime.

“ _ Destroy him, Soundwave.  Do what I never could.” _

[[ Selfish. ]] It had been harder than he would have liked to find a suitable reply from Megatron himself, but the effect was powerful.  After all this time, Optimus still thought the world of Megatron.

Clumsy fingers stopped their assault on the cabinet’s clasps, and Optimus stood up straighter, pressed against the door at his back, a stricken expression on his face.  But the moment didn’t last for long. “Yes,” he admitted. “Yes, it is.”

That wasn’t the reaction Soundwave wanted.  Optimus had always enough sense to feel guilt for his questionable actions, but Soundwave was sick of guilt, and he was sick of apologies.  Where was the goodness in knowingly committing an action that required an apology later on? The trouble was, he could already hear the spiral of guilt that consumed Optimus, even if it wasn’t reflected in the hum of his engine or the pulse of his spark, and with the limited words at his disposal, he was increasingly uncertain of how to deal with it.

_ “Do what you need to do, Soundwave.  I won’t be angry.” _

“Selfish.”  His already-broken voice was soft, and rough from millennia without use.  Soundwave had always been a quiet mech, but he’d taken a vow of silence nonetheless, after he’d already lost most of his Symbionts, after Megatron had overstepped his boundaries, after words had gotten him into trouble time and again.  But the war was over, Megatron was gone, and in this new world, where he’d been forced into leadership, his adamancy to stay silent at all costs was proving detrimental. It was only a matter of time until he was forced to break his vow; it may as well be for a good cause.  And what better cause was there than to carry on his master’s legacy?

For his part, Optimus didn’t immediately notice the significance of Soundwave’s repeated accusation, but he didn’t remain ignorant for long.  Slowly, as realization set in, he raised his eyes from the floor, meeting Soundwave’s face once more, mouth agape and field flickering in an uncharacteristic display of surprise.  “Soundwave? Did you just -” He cut himself off, unwilling or unable to finish his sentence. He didn’t even acknowledge the meaning behind the word that had been thrown his way.

Soundwave’s vocalizer felt raw, broken.  It was a struggle to force it to activate; he had to reset the thing a few times before he could manage another sound, but in the end, it gave in to his will.  “Observation: if - Optimus neglects leadership duties, then - public perception will reflect said negligence. Optimus Prime: avoids difficult choices. Optimus Prime: prefers unrelated human conflicts to those of Cybertron.  Optimus Prime: forsakes responsibility. Result: Optimus Prime: stripped of responsibility in turn. Optimus Prime: fears helplessness, but facilitates his own inevitable helplessness. Speculation: three years - Optimus Prime will have no say in public policy.  Speculation: public policy will stand counter to prior-expressed issues of morality. Result: Optimus Prime will be obsolete; Cybertron will be corrupt; war will be inevitable.”

He’d always hated his voice, the unpleasant sound of it, the broken syntax that plagued him as he attempted to string words together, but he couldn’t deny his satisfaction at seeing the dumbfounded look on Optimus’s stupid face.  He’d done that, and no one else. How exhilarating it was! 

“You really do care about this.”  Optimus’s voice was barely a whisper; any other mech would not have heard it.  Thankfully, this time he actually bothered engaging with the content of Soundwave’s claims.  “I - I do not believe you incorrect, Soundwave. I have feared the same thing myself, but I do not foresee quite so bleak a future as you do.  Despite their flaws, I do have faith in the council. I appointed most of them personally, and each was for a reason, be it pragmatism, experience, morality, intelligence - even dissidence.  It is the same for you. I am doing everything in my power to create a world that will still operate under the morals I preach long after I’ve lost my relevance.” He pushed himself from the cabinet, stepping closer to Soundwave, looming over him, albeit without any of the threat that had always been included in Megatron’s stance, whenever he assumed such a position.

“Furthermore, though I admit that spending time on Earth is not the most important thing I could be doing right now, it is not so useless as you seem to think it is.  Iacon may be inhabitable now - it is even reminiscent of its Golden Age appearance in some places, but the same cannot be said for the planet as a whole. Much of Cybertron is still under renovation - alive once again, yes, but the effects of the war still scar every inch of the planet.  Much of the traditional energon mines remain inaccessible, and we have been unable to accurately gauge just how much energon has returned to the planet, and whether it is enough to sustain us in the long run. Earth, however, is rich in energon, and other resources as well, things that cannot be found natively on Cybertron.  

“We may be getting by, but that does not change the fact that we are a planet still recovering from full-scale destruction.  We need all of the off-world resources we can muster, and if that means fostering our relationship with the humans, then I will work to do so.  I may no longer be the one calling the shots, but I am not wasting my time.”

Maybe so, but anyone could have been down on Earth, negotiating with the fleshies, Optimus had said as much himself.  But only Optimus could single-handedly change the direction of politics on Cybertron. And yet, here he was, still trying to convince himself that doing nothing was his best option, going so far to contradict his earlier admissions in the process.  Soundwave was wasting his time.

_ “Giving up already?” _

He wasn’t, not entirely.  But he knew how to pick and choose his battles, and this one, right here and now, wasn’t a fight he was going to win.  His energies would best be utilized elsewhere, doing what little research he was still capable of. With that in mind, he turned his back on Optimus, headed towards the door with only two more words to spare.  

“Selfish.  Coward.”

Optimus didn’t protest, nor did he try to impede Soundwave’s retreat.  His feelings were unreadable as usual; he was just a great, big nothing, wasting away in a near-empty room.  What a life to live.

“Hey guys!  I hope you were able to get some quality time in together!  I brought some Iacon Quickload to share, since you don’t seem to have all that much energon in here.”  Bumblebee came waltzing right back in, bubbly as ever, though he at least had enough sense to read the room once he was there.  Immediately, his posture changed. He grew, stiff, alert, prepared for the impending fight that his trained eye anticipated. It was a no-brainer that he would turn his hostile intent Soundwave’s way.

At least he was cordial enough when he spoke.  “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, Bumblebee,” said Optimus, his voice effortlessly neutral.  “You do not have to worry. Our conversation may not have been . . . pleasant, but it was necessary nonetheless.”  He shifted his weight, transferring his attention from Bumblebee to Soundwave. “Thank you, Soundwave. It is good to know your feelings on this matter.  And though it may be difficult to hear, I do appreciate dissenting voices. The last thing I want is for our new world to fall into the failings of the old, where all words that failed to support the Senate’s narrative were ignored at best, when not outright suppressed.  I will take what you said into account, and act upon it if I feel it necessary. I owe you at least that much.”

Soundwave stopped in his tracks.  The admission caught him off-guard.  Politicians weren’t supposed to listen to him, to follow his advice, to act in what he deemed to be Cybertron’s best interest, and yet here was Optimus, claiming that he would do just that.

_ “A proclamation means nothing, Soundwave,”  _ whispered Megatron, throwing a protective arm over his shoulders, as though to steer him away from Optimus.   _ “It may as well be an empty promise.  He only said he’d think about it, but you and I know better than to trust such a claim.  Action is the only thing that matters, remember that, Soundwave _ .”

True enough, but an empty promise to listen was still a step above not listening at all.  It was acknowledgment that Soundwave had been heard; baby steps was all he could hope for at the moment.  He was slowly getting through to the council, and he was, hopefully, slowly getting through to Optimus. 

Though he’d spoken freely before, his vocalizer was growing sore, and frankly, he had no desire to share his voice with Bumblebee.  Bumblebee was insignificant. A murderer, and the mech behind Megatron’s ultimate defeat, true, but insignificant nonetheless. He was no leader, no politician.  He had no power, and did not deserve what few words Soundwave had to share. So Soundwave said nothing. Instead, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, willing Megatron’s ghost to dissipate so that he could look Optimus in the eye, and then, once certain that contact was initiated, he nodded.  His meaning would not be misinterpreted, not by Optimus. Optimus had offered him an acknowledgment, and Soundwave had provided his own in return. Reciprocation was the best that could be expected of either mech, for the time being. Now, it was time to leave.

He continued his retreat, marching past Bumblebee (not missing the stiff set to the small mech’s shoulders as he passed), and through the door.  His babysitter was quick to follow, energon treats and gleeful attitude forgotten. Soundwave scarcely noticed. He had more important things to worry about.

How was he going to force Optimus to transform his promise to listen into action?


	10. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his confrontation with the Prime, Soundwave is ready to take a break from politics. There are matters far closer to home that must be dealt with first.

It had been but hours since his meeting with the Prime, and an air of surrealty still hung about Soundwave.  Had that really happened? He’d used his voice. He couldn’t recall the last time that had happened - an intimate confession to Megatron?  A moment of despair? And yet, he’d broken his vow; he’d spoken using his own words. And to Optimus Prime, no less!

It was gross!  Disrespectful of the memory of his late master.  Megatron was supposed to be the one he broke his vow for - it was always supposed to be Megatron.  Optimus didn’t deserve his voice. Optimus didn’t deserve his time or his thoughts. All Optimus deserved was a painful death!

Soundwave slumped against the wall, his back to the undersized window that mocked him with images of freedom.  He would have preferred to stay in the dark, if this was the life he was left with; perhaps he could ask Bumblebee to get him some curtains.

_ “Soundwave.”   _ He didn’t know where Megatron’s voice came from this time.  The world was spinning, and it was far too much effort to orient himself; he didn’t particularly want to right now.  It was nice to relinquish all pretense of control. With that, he disabled his optical sensors as well.

_ “You did well, Soundwave,” _ Megatron tried.   _ “There is no need to feel such despair.  You’re winning. I know you’re overwhelmed, but that was a victory back there.  And was it not fun to tear into our long-time enemy like that?” _

It was; Megatron wasn’t wrong.  About any of it, really. If he had any hope of winning (whatever that meant), he needed Optimus to come out on his side - to stop moping around in old churches, and take an active role in shaping the future of the planet he’d long fought for control over.  It was as close to a victory as Soundwave was going to get on that front for the time being, and yet, on a visceral level, it felt like a failure. Soundwave may have gotten Optimus to admit to things that he was already aware of, but in the process, an important part of his identity had been sacrificed.  In the end, Optimus’s victory was greater than Soundwave’s.

_ “You’re being too hard on yourself.  No one is angry with your decision to speak.  No matter what you think, there is real power in your words - certainly more than any of mine.  You did the right thing; the war is over, I am dead - there is no reason to keep clinging to your vow, and every reason to speak, if you feel that is the best way to get your point across.” _

Again, Megatron was right.  There really was no reason to be so upset, and perhaps this time tomorrow, once he’d come to terms with what he’d done, he wouldn’t think twice about it.  But a broken vow was hardly the root of his problems - it was simply the latest in a growing list of burdens too hard to bear. He was isolated, unsupported, overwhelmed, and for what?  Laserbeak was still struggling to hold on, but the council as a whole, at least, didn’t have anything to do with that. His current position kept him from prison, but was he not still a prisoner?  The council was against him, the Decepticons were against him, and Optimus didn’t want to help him clean up this mess. Why did he care so much? It would be so much easier to give up, and let Cybertron end up wherever the Autobots wanted to let it go.

_ “But what would Laserbeak do without you? _ ”

Soundwave reactivated his optical sensors, shifting his gaze to his Symbiont, still sleeping on his perch.  Would he ever wake up, or was Soundwave clinging to one more hopeless cause? No one knew what was wrong with Laserbeak, and no one knew how to fix him.  He was the last thing Soundwave had in this world, and he wasn’t even really here. He’d spent weeks in this pitiable state, and there looked to be no end to it.

_ Weeks? _

Knock Out had promised to be back in a week’s time, and yet, his promised return had come and gone without event.  It had been a busy week, yes, but surely Knock Out had dedicated at least a little bit of time to his promise. He may not have been particularly loyal, but he was being paid, and if nothing else, Soundwave still had fear on his side.  For what reason could the bot possibly have had to flake out on him? 

_ “You’re getting your comm back.  You can call him. Or else, have Bumblebee call him; have Optimus call him.  This isn’t a hopeless cause, Soundwave. You have options. You can do this.” _

Right again.  Megatron was on fire today, but try as he might, Soundwave couldn’t feel particularly fired up himself.  He rose from his spot on the wall, and approached Laserbeak’s unmoving form. With all of the stealth he was known for, Soundwave deployed his data cables, and with the gentleness of a doting parent, lifted his Symbiont from his nest, pulling him close to his chest.  For the first time in weeks, plating shifted aside, making room for Laserbeak to connect with him, as he used to do - a Symbiont in the warm embrace of its Carrier, transferring data, safe, and right.

But it wasn’t right.

There was nothing on the other end of the connection.  Laserbeak fed Soundwave no data - no information as to his current status, no memory fragments, no reassuring words, or even a synchronizing of their shared spark.  It was all a black, miserable, emptiness; Soundwave felt more alone than ever. Laserbeak was here, but he wasn’t  _ here _ , and nothing Soundwave had done these past weeks had changed anything on this front.

He fell back to the wall, hunched over, and doing his best to wrap his oversized arms around his chest, before sliding down the wall, knees up.  It was the closest he could come to wrapping Laserbeak up in his safety and love. He’d been far too divorced from his Symbiont lately, too focused on politics and not focused enough on his family.  Maybe Laserbeak wasn’t getting better because of his neglect? And so, he reasoned, no matter how wrong it felt, to have that emptiness flowing into him from a mech who had always been so full of life, from here on in, nothing was going to keep the two of them apart.

He would find Knock Out, and then he would find out what Knock Out knew, but for now, Laserbeak needed him here, and here he would stay.

~~~

22ZE6 was a far better spy than Soundwave had initially given him credit for.  

Soundwave had just finished reading his first report, and it was quite an impressive affair.  22ZE6 had, not unpredictably, gotten some of his Vehicon friends involved in his quest to find what was going down on the street.  With other mechs, this would have been cause for alarm, but Soundwave had little doubt in the loyalty of the Vehicons, at least in so far as he was concerned, and with their positions in warehouses and shipyards and kitchens and smelting pools, they made for a far more thorough network than 22ZE6 ever could have been.

It was, mercifully, good news he held in his hands.  According to the Vehicons, revolutions was not quite so imminent as Soundwave had feared.  There had, of course, been a handful of mechs trying to step up and follow in Megatron’s footsteps, Onslaught, Damus, and Hun-Gurr chief among them, but none of them had been able to capture that spark of revolution that had served Megatron for so long, and none had been able to unite even a fraction of the Decepticons to stand behind their cause.  As it turned out, without Megatron’s might to keep them in line, the Decepticon underlings were far too varied in their motives and methods. The army had been fractured into dozens of smaller movements, none of which could muster the momentum to make any progress.

That being said, it wasn’t all good news in the street.  22ZE6 noted that Soundwave’s inclusion on the transitional council was widely unpopular with the Decepticons as a whole.  Some saw his actions as a form of absolute betrayal - never would they have followed someone who stood so opposed to everything Megatron had stood for.  Others worried that he’d allowed himself to be blackmailed, that the Autobots had found a weakness to prey upon, and were using him to further their nefarious schemes.  Then, of course, there were those who simply viewed him as an ineffectual leader, a notion which he personally agreed with. Soundwave never had been leader material, but he couldn’t let that get in his way right now.

<< _ 22ZE6, inquiry.>> _

_ << Yes sir?>> _ the Vehicon responded quickly; he’d clearly been waiting for the reply.

_ << Report: received; informative.  However, subsequent direction: unclear.  Amongst Decepticons: inquiry: most pertinent issue?>> _

This time, it took a little longer for the Vehicon to reply.   _ <<Well, I guess I’d have to say that poverty is the biggest issue affecting District Eight.  I mean, that’s probably pretty obvious - no one’s got jobs, and no one’s got houses, and no one’s got enough fuel.  Folks are pretty angry about it.>> _

Soundwave wasn’t sure how to reply to the statement, but thankfully, 22ZE6 sent another message first.

_ <<I don’t suppose you - and I don’t mean any disrespect - but do you have any plans to address this?>> _

Nothing he could accomplish in a timely manner.  He was still waiting on the reactivation of his old comm, but that would do little to get food, shelter, and jobs to his old allies in the short term.  << _ Decepticon poverty: understood.  However, solution: complicated. Current plan: reestablish communication network.  Concurrent plan: convince Autobot politicians to divert funds to Decepticon neighborhoods.  Date of achievement: unknown. _ >>

It was frustrating to admit, but lying about an impending success he was unlikely to achieve would have only caused more trouble in the long run.  Whatever 22ZE6 thought about this, he kept it to himself.

_ <<Ah, I see, sir.  Must be difficult.>>   _ The Vehicon waited for a reply for several moments, but when it became clear Soundwave had none, he sent another message.   _ <<Is there anything else you require at the moment?>> _

Soundwave nearly declined, but a chance glance downward changed his mind.  Laserbeak was still connected to his chest, unresponsive as ever, and Soundwave had yet to make contact with Knock Out.  He may as well take the chance to seek help from his most reliable connection to the outside world.

_ <<Inquiry: former Decepticon medic, Knock Out: information?>> _

Lucky for him, the Vehicon was quite the gossipmonger.   _ <<Oh, Knock Out?  Yeah, I know a bit about him!  Everybody loves to hate him - y’know, ‘cause he betrayed the cause to save his own chassis!  Can you believe it? Spent the whole war fighting the good fight, and then the second it looked like were were gonna lose, he turns on us!  The nerve of that guy!>> _

The information was surprising only for how angry 22ZE6 was.  He had expected loyalty from the Vehicons, but he hadn’t expected such a level of devotion.  How admirable it was.  _ <<Inquiry: Knock Out: current status?>> _

_ <<Well, he’s not dumb enough to stay in District Eight.  There are a couple hundred mechs what would love to see his head on a pike.  I mean, he keeps his living quarters a secret - some say he’s actually in like - Autobot Witness Protection or something?  Like some lowlife coward! Joke’s on him though. He ditched his own side, but he’s still a Con deep down. None of the Autobots trust his medical expertise - call him the ‘Psycho Doctor,’ y’know?  Last I heard, he was trying to get into the racing mod industry - like, installing boosters and stuff to make bots run faster? Dumb job. Not sure if he’s still working it though. _

_ <<Oh!  Actually, I did hear something.  11ZE9 works in the archives, and he says that he’s seen the traitor meandering about in there lately.  Word is, he’s looking into some sketchy operations, even by his standards. Though I don’t know how 11ZE9 would know this, so I guess take it with a pinch of rust flakes.>> _

Perhaps he really was looking into a means of helping Laserbeak then, though Soundwave wasn’t certain he wanted to subject his one remaining Symbiont to the aforementioned ‘sketchy operations,’ whatever those were.   _ <<Inquiry:  Knock Out: Location: available?>> _

The Vehicon took a long moment to reply this time as well.  Hopefully he was thinking about the answer, and not Soundwave’s motivation for asking the question in the first place.   _ <<Well, like I said, he’s pretty secretive about where he lives, but I know a couple guys working down at the racetrack.  I think we could probably track him down, if that’s what you want. Not sure why you’d want to see that traitor though. You don’t need a medic, do you?  I know it’s hard to trust Autobot medics, but there are a couple Decepticon medics down in District Eight, if you need medical attention. Maybe they’re not as good as Knock Out, but they’re far more loyal.>> _

So he  _ was _ speculating.  Soundwave didn’t like the sound of that, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.  He could, however, put an end to the conversation.  _ <<Motivation: irrelevant.  Vehicon 22ZE6: operation: find Knock Out’s location; relay to Soundwave.>> _

With the mission established, Soundwave was quick to hang up.  He didn’t doubt the loyalty of the Vehicons, but the fact remained that they were gossipmongers, and the last thing Soundwave wanted was word of Laserbeak’s condition getting out.  The Autobots may not have been blackmailing him, but a broken Symbiont would be obvious blackmail material to the casual observer. Should the wrong party find out, then not only himself, but the entire transitional council would be discredited, and that was one thing Cybertron didn’t need right now.

In the meantime, he’d wait for 22ZE6 to get back to him with the requested information.  With any luck, he’d be able to confront Knock Out by the end of the week.

~~~

Soundwave wasn’t thrilled to confront Knock Out with an escort, but there was no getting around it.  He was not willing to test the limits of what rebellions the council would allow of him. Utilizing the Vehicon network was risky enough; he’d simply have to deal with Bumblebee’s presence.  Laserbeak was counting on him.

Unfortunately, his decision to let the chatty scout accompany him came with its own set of downsides.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna tell me what happened?  With you and Optimus, I mean? You don’t even have to tell me!  Just like . . . clue me in? I’d thought the two of you were getting along, but the other day was . . . and he doesn’t want to talk about it, but I think it’s important to talk about these things.”  He just had to press the uncomfortable issues, didn’t he?

Soundwave wouldn’t have responded to this miserable line of conversation, even if he’d been willing to waste his words on someone like Bumblebee.  What happened between himself and Optimus Prime was personal; nobody else on the planet had any business knowing about the events that transpired that that shoddy cathedral earlier that week.

Eventually, and mercifully, Bumblebee seemed to take the hint, and moved on to a new line of conversation.  “So, what do you want with Knock Out anyway?”

Oh goody.  More questions Soundwave had no intention of answering.

The journey carried on in a similar vein for its remainder, with Bumblebee idly chattering away about anything that crossed his mind, and Soundwave doing his level best to ignore him.  Thankfully, the walk to the racetrack wasn’t too far, and from there, it was easy to find Knock Out’s personal office, sequestered away in the track’s lower levels. The layout of the place was uncomfortably similar to the old coliseum in Kaon, a realization which Soundwave tried to push far from his mind.  The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of that hell hole.

_ “Don’t lie, Soundwave.  You loved that hell hole.” _

Soundwave stopped in front of a door: B2: 24.  If 22ZE6’s intel was correct, this was where he would find Knock Out, though by this point, he didn’t need the word of a Vehicon to guide him.  He could hear shifting on the other side of the door, the light hum of a Speedster’s powerful motor, an occasional sigh of frustration that would have been unmistakable in timbre, even if the frequency of that EM field hadn’t given him away.  Knock Out was definitely inside.

“Hey, what’s up?  Is this the place?” Bumblebee asked, with a hum of doubt about him.  Still, he was at least nice enough to humor Soundwave’s whims. “What are we waiting for, do you want me to knock?”

Soundwave supposed that would be more polite than hacking the door to gain entrance.  He stepped back, letting his personal annoyance make itself useful.

_ Knock knock. _

“Ugh, who the - no.  Frag them, this is too important,” Knock Out grumbled from the other side of the door.  Perhaps breaking in would be the best solution after all.

“Looks like no one’s home,” Bumblebee suggested, but when Soundwave made to step forward, he took the opportunity to knock again.

Knock Out’s spark gave a flicker of fear this time.  How interesting. Soundwave nudged Bumblebee, and then, mindful of how the Autobots perceived his actions as aggressive, guided a long arm upwards, until his fingers were pointing at Bumblebee’s mouth.  Predictably, Bumblebee’s own pulse began to race, and he nearly flinched, but on the outside, he put on a show of good faith.

“You want me to . . . use my mouth?  Oh! To talk!”

Soundwave nodded.

“Okay then.”  He knocked again.  “Hey Knock Out, it’s me, Bumblebee.  And Soundwave’s here too. Are you in there?”

The fear in Knock Out’s spark waned, and slowly the sounds of a mech crawling to his feet and trudging across a stoney floor reached Soundwave through the walls.  The door slid open quickly afterwards, and there stood Knock Out, disheveled, but cocky as ever.

“Well well, the Autobots’ golden boy and Mr. Decepticon himself.  What brings you to my humble workplace?”

“Golden boy?” Bumblebee repeated, frowning.

“What, you don’t like it?  But it suits you so well. After all, your paint job matches, and was it not  _ you _ who brought down the late, maybe-not-so-great Megatron?”

Bumblebee’s frame tensed immediately, and he cast a rather unsubtle glance at Soundwave.  “Maybe, but I don’t think we’re here to talk about me.”

“Hmm, I suppose not.  I can’t imagine our glorious Soundwave would be here if you were.”  He stepped aside. “Well, come in then. No sense in talking out where anyone can hear.”

The inside of Knock Out’s office was surprisingly plain.  There were no gaudy nick nacks adorning the shelves, no garish colors adorning the walls, nothing but a desk, a computer terminal, a handful of data tablets, and a few stacks of spare parts in the corner.  Judging by the mess at his desk, he had recently been working on something there.

“Welcome, and please, don’t stay too long.  I am, after all a very busy mech - not a lot of time these days to entertain guests.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Bumblebee muttered, much to Knock Out’s irritation.

“Yes, well, not all of us can be blessed with a palace in the towers, now can we?  The lowly among us make due with what we can get.” He was being dramatic, yes, but he did have a point.  Would he have thought for a moment that the Council would allow him to live anywhere else, Soundwave would have swapped over his tower in exchange for the crummy little office without hesitation.  There was something about the cramped, musty nature of the room that felt like home.

“So, Soundwave,” Knock Out said, resetting his tone to his usual smooth charm, and taking a seat on the desk.  “I take it you’re here for a  _ reason _ ,” he flapped his hands at his shoulders in a laughable imitation of wings.  Soundwave very much wanted to pretend that he didn’t understand the undignified gesture, but there were more important things to worry about.  He gave a nod.

At his confirmation, however, Knock Out’s bold attitude seemed to deflate - hesitation seemed fit to burst from his frame at the seams; it was a bad sign.

“So uh, I take it you remember me saying I’d be back in a week.”

Soundwave nodded again.

“And it’s been quite a bit more than a week, hasn’t it?”

One more nod.

Knock Out sighed, his hesitation melting away to regret.  “I didn’t forget I just - haven’t found anything. I mean, not for lack of trying, and not for lack of skill either!” he shot a pointed glare at Bumblebee, who drew back with a confused shrug.  Knock Out continued, “I just don’t have a whole lot of resources at my disposal down here. Ex-Decepticon and all that - you know how it is, I’m sure.” Soundwave was aware, though he wondered how much Bumblebee really understood.

“Look,” Knock Out waved a dismissive hand, though the churning of his fuel tanks was anything but, “if you want some real help -  _ really _ want to do what’s best for your bird, then you should go to First Aid or Fix-It, or Pit, even Ratchet back on Earth.  You know, the Autobot medics. They’re the ones with the connections and the equipment and the, y’know,  _ everything _ .  They’re your bots.”

Soundwave shook his head.  He’d already been to Ratchet - the best of the best, as far as Autobot medicine was concerned, and that had ended quite poorly.  Truth be told, Soundwave had yet to be convinced that the Autobots weren’t behind Laserbeak’s current state, even if the council itself was not.  There was no way he was going to trust the word of any Autobot medic in this situation, and he wouldn’t, even if he’d had one hundred percent proof of their innocence this this affair.  Even if they hadn’t sabotaged Laserbeak’s recovery, they were still Autobots, and he was, as Knock Out had so aptly put it,  _ Mr. Decepticon. _ There was no love lost between them - Ratchet had proven as much already.

“Look,” Knock Out sighed, frustration growing, “I can tell you everything I’ve learned, but there’s not much there you don’t already know.  Laserbeak should be awake, but he is not. When the firewall keeping him in stasis is removed, he displays signs of far more brainwave activity than he ought to.  I’ve tried looking into what could cause such a phenomenon, but medical studies on Minicons are rare, and everything I’ve found for your normal-sized mechs is pretty situational.  Y’know, like, split-spark twins when one is under duress, or like, botched trining in Seekers, though that one is usually temporary. Oh! And you’ll love this one - there were a few studies published back in the Golden Age about the theoretical possibility of split-consciousness by - guess who - Shockwave!”

Now that was interesting.  Soundwave doubted very much the likelihood of Shockwave being responsible for Laserbeak’s current state, but if Soundwave could get his hands on his old colleague’s research, he may have a starting point.  Come to think of it . . . 

“Well,” Knock Out continued, interrupting Soundwave’s train of thought, “it’s pretty much all in that vein.  I don’t really know what else to tell you. I could brainstorm some possible solutions, but let me just say, I’ve been doing that for weeks now, and all I’ve come up with is some circular logic and no real, feasible solutions.”

Soundwave supposed that made sense.  If all Knock Out had to work with was the information he’d mentioned and his own processor, then speculation was his only option, and speculation wasn’t exactly an answer to Laserbeak’s condition.  Back to square one then. How miserable.

“That’s it?  You’re really gonna just give up?”  Bumblebee had been respectfully quiet for far too long now.  It only made sense that he’d have to draw attention back to himself now.  “There’s gotta be a solution to this, right?”

_ You would know, wouldn’t you?   _ Soundwave’s accusative thoughts culminated in a pointed stare Bumblebee’s way.  Come to think of it, he’d had a rather suspicious reaction to finding out that Laserbeak was sentient - the reaction of someone with figurative blood on his hands, perhaps?  Then again, that reaction could have been in relation to anything. It had been a long war. One guilty conscience did not a saboteur make.

Unfortunately, Bumblebee seemed to translate Soundwave’s seething glare as an invitation to keep talking.  “Well, like Knock Out, you’re a science-y guy, right?”

“I’m a doctor, you little twerp, not a scientist,” Knock Out groaned, folding his arms over his chest.

“Okay, well, if you have some theories, maybe you should try them out?  Something’s bound to work, right?”

Soundwave did not like that idea, as evidenced by his flared plating and the soft hiss that escaped his vocaliser.  Thankfully, Knock Out was on the same page.

“Sure,” he agreed with false praise.  “I mean, worst that happens is the patient dies, right?  Great idea!”

Bumblebee fell back, plating retracting in on itself, ashamed.  “I didn’t mean like that . . .”

“Of course you didn’t.”  The words were surprisingly genuine, coming from such a snarky character.  “But it is what it is. Laserbeak’s a bit more . . . fragile than your average mech, and the last thing I want to do is get on that one’s bad side,” he jerked a thumb in Soundwave’s direction.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” Bumblebee said, his doorwings trembling despite his best efforts to appear more confident in light of his blunder.  “But if we do nothing, nothing’s gonna change, right? And even Ratchet didn’t know what was going on with Laserbeak, so clearly it’s not like, a normal situation.  But I was thinking - you mentioned that Shockwave had done some research on something similar, and well - Laserbeak - it’s like there are two consciousness-es in his head?”  He stumbled over the awkward word, but his meaning was clear. 

“Oh,” said Knock Out, and then, “ _ Oh _ , you’re thinking we should investigate from the inside!”  His tone was conspiratorial, and only confirmed Soundwave’s suspicions.

[[ No. ]]  Soundwave didn’t know who he’d stolen that voice clip from, but it didn’t matter.  He was well-acquainted with the cortical psychic patch, and he didn’t want that horrid thing anywhere near Laserbeak.

“Soundwave,” Knock Out said, hopping off of the desk and stepping closer, albeit cautiously, “I fully understand why you might have some reservations here, but I think the scout might be on to something.  If you’ll recall, we have the cortical psychic patch to thank for mysteriously reviving Megatron from his coma as well, even after the point where he was clinically braindead. I can’t say I fully understand the science behind it, but it’s been proven to work miracles in the past, and a miracle is just what Laserbeak needs right now, don’t you think?”

From the corner of the room, Bumblebee’s frame tensed, no doubt at his own memories of the affair.  Despite his discomfort, however, he found it in himself to voice his thoughts on the matter (to no one’s surprise).  “You know, when Megatron’s consciousness wasn’t in his own frame, it was in my mind - he’d hopped bodies after I used the patch to connect with him.  So maybe Laserbeak really does have someone else sharing his brain space. It’s happened before.”

“So there you have it,” Knock Out smiled, his mood recovered in record time.  “An actual, possible way of moving forward - you know, if you’ll allow it. It’s probably the best we’ve got right now.”

Was that right?  Perhaps it was. The ultimate worst possible outcome would be Laserbeak dying during the procedure, but was he truly alive now?  The chances of him waking on his own were a mere point o-one percent, and the risk of him actually dying while connected to the cortical psychic patch was, as best as Soundwave could tell, only fifteen percent.  No one had died while connected before, outside of intentional malicious use, and as Knock Out had pointed out, Megatron had even come back from a coma he was never meant to wake from with its assistance. 

This was an actual solution to Laserbeak’s problem, and the only solution he was likely to get.  The patch was a violation of a bot’s mind, but should someone whose spark was already shared with Laserbeak’s were to enter, the violation should not be quite so severe.  Soundwave didn’t like it, but it really was the best choice. The only choice.

This time, it was Megatron’s voice that said, [[ Very well, ]] prompting a flutter of excited EM fields from the room’s remaining occupants.

“Perfect!” said Knock Out.  “Finally, a little bit of progress.”

Bumblebee scurried forward, his EM field buzzing with giddiness.  “This is great! I’m happy for you. And don’t worry about getting the equipment.  I can vouch for you!” He paused, falling back as his field contained itself. “Though I think you should probably ask permission . . . from Optimus,” he said, after a moment.  “The council may protest, but Optimus probably won’t, and no one’s gonna fight him on this issue. So yeah, you’re gonna have to ask Optimus. Is that okay?”

Soundwave didn’t want to talk to Optimus again - not after what had happened last time, but what he wanted didn’t matter.  For the first time since he’d arrived in this horrible world, he had hope of getting his last Symbiont back. Now that he’d committed, no petty squabbles were going to stand in his way.

[[ Affirmative. ]]

~~~

_ << Optimus Prime, _

_ Request: Cortical Psychic Patch _

_ Purpose: Laserbeak’s affliction - investigation required. _

_ Discovery: per Knock Out - Laserbeak - brainwave activity indicates multiple consciousnesses occupying same frame.   _

_ Suggestion: per Bumblebee - investigate internal cause of activity via cortical psychic patch. _

_ Acknowledged: utilization of cortical psychic patch - controversial. _

_ Permission: required. _

_ Permission: requested. _

_ Reply: Anticipated. _

_ \--Soundwave>> _

The message was perfectly to the point, as was befitting of Soundwave.  Sure, there were further issues in need of addressing, issues that pertained to a very unfortunate previous encounter.  He wasn’t entirely certain that Optimus would be pleased to hear from him so soon, least of all about something so controversial as this, or even so personal as Laserbeak’s health, but Soundwave didn’t care.  He had no intention of talking about any other subjects right now - the best course of action was to pretend their last conversation had never happened, unless Optimus gave him cause to bring it up again. In the meantime, he’d patiently await the Prime’s reply.

He didn’t have to wait for long.

_ << Soundwave, _

_ I received your message, and I understand your desire to use the cortical psychic patch to investigate Laserbeak’s mysterious condition.  I am glad you have acknowledged how controversial this particular piece of equipment is - under current law, the cortical psychic patch is outlawed, however, we have retained a few specimens in the even they should be necessary.  As this is a medical emergency, and with the sake of the health of both Laserbeak and yourself in mind, I do provide conditional approval to use the cortical psychic patch for your intended purpose. However, as you are still technically on probation, and taking into account your history, especially as perceived by the council, I cannot let you operate this device unsupervised. _

_ Therefore, I request to be present for the operation. _

_ I await your reply, _

_ \--Optimus Prime>> _

That was it then.  It was finally happening.  Optimus Prime was going to be there, but what did it matter?  He was, if all went well, getting Laserbeak back. For the first time in a long while, Soundwave was feeling hopeful.


	11. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave journeys to the center of Laserbeak's mind in an effort to wake him from his coma.

It seemed that there was more to Knock Out’s workspace than the tiny office Soundwave and Bumblebee had visited.  In a deeper layer of the stadium was a small hospital wing, where the good doctor saw to his patients, providing tune ups, repairs, and upgrades.  It wasn’t much to look at, but it did have a pair of medical slabs, a computer terminal, and a monitor for observation, which was all Soundwave needed to suit his purposes.

Optimus, as promised, had arrived at Soundwave’s apartment, carrying a certain ominous data cable in his subspace.  He’d served as Soundwave’s escort to the racetrack, and the pair had shared an awkward, if not merciful silence for the duration of the journey.  Now, they sat in that uncomfortably small basement room, while Knock Out fluttered about, adjusting settings on the terminal, and occasionally fiddling with the knobs and cables on the slabs.

“Alrighty, so it looks like we’re about ready to go.  Now, I trust that the two of you are familiar with this hardware?”  He paused just long enough to receive an affirmation from both Soundwave and Optimus.  “Good, good. Now, since what you are doing is not entirely in the realm of legal, I would like to be as far away from it as possible, you understand.”

“Yes, Knock Out.  I understand,” said Optimus, in that severe way of his.  

“I’m glad,” Knock Out replied, somewhat off-put.  It was difficult to have a normal conversation with the Prime.  His voice really was best suited for dire circumstances. “But I don’t want you wrecking the place, so I’ll run you through what is going to happen, just to cover our bases.”

“Of course.”

Knock Out rose from his position underneath the far slab.  “Alright, so Laserbeak will be placed on this slab, and secured in place with these cables,” he motioned towards a pair of restraints sticking up from the surface of the slab.  Soundwave tensed at the sight. The last thing he wanted was for Laserbeak to wake up trapped - he knew from experience just how terrifying such an ordeal could be. 

Knock Out seemed to sense his unease.  “I can understand why you might not like it, but it’s a safety measure.  There are far too many ways that movement, voluntary or otherwise could hurt our little friend here.  Complications from using the cortical psychic patch are uncommon, but a wiggly bird certainly can raise the likelihood that something goes wrong.”

Soundwave supposed he could agree with that, at least.  He made no further protest, and detached Laserbeak from his chest, setting him atop the indicated slab.  He didn’t go so far as to help Knock Out restrain him, but nor did he get in the way. Rather, he proceeded to his own slab, preparing himself for the impending unpleasantness that was about to ensue.  He didn’t have direct experience with a cortical psychic patch, but he knew more than enough about their workings to be nervous.

“Wow, eager there aren’t we,” Knock Out laughed without approaching.  “Well, there’s still a little left to leave you with. You got that, big bot?”  He gestured coyly at Optimus.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, we’ll start with this monitor, for instance.”  It was apparently set up remotely to interpret the brain signals transferred using the cortical psychic patch into some sort of audio/visual representation that Optimus could observe.  From there, he explained a specialized comm system set up to communicate with Soundwave should something go wrong, and what to do in a straight up emergency to minimize harm to all parties.  At that point, he stopped talking, under the pretense of last-minute setup. Unfortunately, Optimus seemed to take the sudden silence as an excuse to fill it himself.

“Soundwave,” he said, his voice cautious, as though he were expecting to be shut down.  Naturally, Soundwave gave no response, but this didn’t stop him from continuing to be an annoyance.  “I . . . have had time to reflect on your . . . sentiments from the other day.” Had he now? The careful choice of words was admirable, but Soundwave wasn’t particularly interested in pursuing this line of conversation, least of all with an audience.  He kept his focus on whatever Knock Out was doing, hoping that the Prime would take the hint.

“I’m sorry for my indiscretions.  I will strive to do better in the future.”

Again, Soundwave didn’t bother dignifying this unpleasant line of conversation with an acknowledgment, and this time, Optimus did take the hint.  Unfortunately, that didn’t mean he was done talking.

“I admit to some worry over this upcoming operation.  I do hope that everything goes well, and that you are able to revive Laserbeak.  I have not informed the Council of our plans, so it would be in the best interest of all of us if we take care not to do anything that would require them to find out.”

Did he hear that right?  Was Optimus Prime actually working behind the back of the Council?  Oh, that was rich! It warranted a momentary glance from Soundwave, though he didn’t go so far as to nod.  Optimus didn’t deserve a nod . . . not yet, anyway.

“Hmm, looks like we’re all set up here,” Knock Out said, scurrying back to the pair and mercifully drawing Optimus’s attention away from Soundwave.  “Optimus, could I have a word with you before we begin?” 

He pulled Optimus to the side, under the pretense of secrecy.  Surely neither of them truly believed they could keep anything from Soundwave, least of all while they were all standing in the same room?  

“So I don’t think I need to remind you that this is a really shady stunt we’re pulling that could see us - or well - me and Soundwave over there, at least, in a whole load of trouble.  It is absolutely necessary that you don’t let anything go wrong.”

“I understand, Knock Out.  I will do everything in my power to ensure this operation goes smoothly.”

“No, I don’t think you do understand,” Knock Out said, shaking his head.  “I don’t want you to do ‘everything in your power.’ I want your word that nothing that happens in this room gets out of this room.  So, for instance, if something were to happen that would leave Soundwave’s processor damaged, well, people are gonna ask how that happened, and -”

“Knock Out,” Optimus interrupted.  “I promise, I will not allow things to come to that.”

Knock Out folded his arms over his chest, unconvinced.  “Yeah? Well then, if it comes to a choice between losing Soundwave’s mind and losing Laserbeak?”

Optimus glanced at Soundwave, not at all bothering to hide the fact that he knew they were being spied on.  “I will protect Soundwave, at any cost.” Funny, though he spoke the words with a serious look on his face, his spark gave a noticeable jerk, as though he were lying.  It was impossible to say for certain - Optimus wasn’t exactly easy to read, and even so, Soundwave wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. Somehow, it was comforting.

“Alright then, I’ll leave you to it!  Have fun.” With that said, Knock Out turned on his heel and made his retreat, leaving Optimus and Soundwave all alone in this miserable room.

If Optimus said anything after that point, Soundwave didn’t bother listening.  He didn’t want platitudes, and he didn’t want to hear Optimus’s motivations for lying to Knock Out (if that was indeed what had happened).  He just wanted to get this whole nasty ordeal over with, and, with any luck, get Laserbeak back up on his feet. Besides, he knew how this worked already.

Doing his best to block the presence of the Prime from his awareness, Soundwave climbed atop his slab and lied down.  It was uncomfortable, and brought to mind all sorts of nasty memories - memories of being strapped to similar tables, held at the sadistic mercy of his enemies.  He shivered involuntarily, and wished, not for the first time, that Megatron was here with him, to rest a hand on his helm, to encourage him through this waking nightmare.  But Megatron didn’t come.

It was probably for the best.

Soundwave remained in that state of pleasant numbness up until the moment where Optimus Prime approached him, that horrid cable in hand and the most miserable expression he’d ever made on his face.  He said no words as he reached behind Soundwave’s head and plugged it in. The rest was darkness.

~~~

He was cold when he came to.  The chill air of Kaon’s Underground flowed easily through the thin walls of their apartment, bringing with it the grime and the stench.  Worse, something wet and corrosive was dripping down from the ceiling, through his body and plinking off the floor, where a tiny hole had already begun to wear away.  All of these sensations were no more than an audio/visual representation of Laserbeak’s memories, of course, but Soundwave knew this place well; it wasn’t a stretch for his own mind to fill in the missing sensory data.

Why Laserbeak had trapped himself in memories of their old apartment was anyone’s guess, though seeing him squeezed up against Buzzsaw on the narrow windowsill, with Ravage asleep on the floor beneath them, while Rumble and Frenzy roughhoused across the room was a welcome sight at the very least.  It had been so long since Soundwave had seen any of them - memory or no, the sight had his spark swelling in his chest, his body warm and content, even in the drafty cold of the room. He reached out to the closest, Frenzy, longing to touch, to hold his long-lost Symbiont, but it was, after all, a memory.  His hand phased right through the rowdy Minicon, who kept right on wrestling with his brother, giving no indication he’d noticed Soundwave at all.

_ It’s not real. _

It wasn’t.  He knew it wasn’t.  But his spark didn’t want to believe it, that was, at least, until Rumble opened up his mouth to offer some sort of taunt towards his brother.

“͟Ah͞lu̶͢su̧҉a͠͠e̸͝m͠ ͜e̵̷m̛͜n̕oh̢͟ ͝h̶̛͠t͢͞h͏̵ơ ͞a̶͝o҉ ̢̛̕ya͢f̶’͡҉͘h̢͠.h͢e͏̢̕ǫ͘y͢c̷̕҉r͠҉̶ ̸h͜oa ̕͞a̶r͜-̧̢͟!̢̢͢”͏͝҉

Nothing could have hit Soundwave harder.  Rumble didn’t speak like that, nor Frenzy, when he replied,

“̕͜Y̡̡h̴̢̕ ̨͡ą̷̵e͡g͘͜e̢҉͢r,͟!̨r͢͢͠r̶̶l̴͘u҉͞ ͢͞͠,̵̢t̶̴mp̸͠a̸͘a̸h̡d̶̸i͡͡į̷̴n҉ ҉͡o ̴̨y͏̷͞ş”͘͡

Frenzy lunged at Rumble, sending the two rolling right into Ravage, who jolted upright with an equally garbled cry of, “C̸! ̨͞ia͏̴͡h͜w̕͏tt̨͜”̶͟

This was all Laserbeak, Laserbeak with the broken speech component, the damaged language processing center.  It was only natural that the words in his head were every bit as indecipherable as his own whirrs and squeaks on the outside, but seeing these mangled sounds come out of his other Minicons hurt - far more than it ought to have.  Even more surreal, however, were his own words.

_ “Command: find Ravage.” _

_ “Command: infiltrate Ratbat Tower.” _

_ “Command: retrieve data disc.” _

They would play every so often with no rhyme nor reason.  There was no Soundwave in this place, save for these commands, always spoken as Soundwave himself would have - no misspoken words or broken syntax here.  He didn’t have a clue as to what it meant - that Laserbeak seemed to view him as a voice that gave commands, while omitting him otherwise from the happy memory.  Was it any reflection of reality, or just some strange trick of whatever deeper effect was plaguing him? Soundwave wasn’t certain he wanted to know.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye - Laserbeak.  He’d gotten up, seemingly to chastise his brothers.

“̷͡N̶҉̴g̡n̸͡gu̴͏̕bt̷s͜e͘n͜r҉ ̷̡ǫ̛.̶ ̧̢.,m̷͞a͢͏͝t͝a̡y͡͞c ͟o̶̕ţ̵͝ ͝i̡t ̶e͡n i̷͘ ͝ḑ̸̢b̶̧͝ug̢̨u͞ ̸g͞e͏̷̴pi̶̷͢ ̡͏o͡r͟y̴ ͏̨r͟͠f̧͘͢ ̛͟l̴͡tǫo̢eu̷u͟c̴͠a̢o̷u̡tn̨ ̨’͏t̨n̶u͠ ͜͝a̢ ̶i͞hn҉͝o͢͞o̸҉t͞f̢ s̶̛y͏h̴͘io̵̧”̧͡

_ “Operation: remain here.  Will return shortly.” _

“̨͠H̡e̡̨g̕͠s̨͟serue͞͞b͝o̴ ̸̸f͢d͝o͟e͟i̧͠o͟͡͠.̧d͞ ̡t̶͘t̷ b ̨eo͠u͘g͡͏r̢͡s͘ţo͏̧͜m҉̸͡y̸͟͡”̢͞

_ “Operation: return to me.” _

Soundwave didn’t like the way this was going, judging by his own disembodied words.  He knew full-well where they were, and he also knew the exact chain of events that had led to those last two commands.  This was Laserbeak’s head; it only made sense that the event that forever changed his life would wind up in here too. 

As though picking up on Soundwave’s panic, Laserbeak turned from his windowsill, this time to stare directly at Soundwave.  The effect was instant. All at once, the room shifted.

_ “Operation: remain here.” _

The room had caved in, until it was no bigger than a tiny hole in a heap of rubble where two birds had narrowly escaped being crushed to death.  Ravage was gone, as were the twins. And Laserbeak was twitching weakly, his head trapped under a hunk of ceiling.

“̢H̷̛!̧̨͜u̸r̢̕į͘ ts͢t҉̶ų̧t ͢r͘͟͠!͏̵i̡͠ş͜th̷͜͠”̧͝

_ “Will return shortly.” _

But though Laserbeak’s suffering was a knife to the spark, Buzzsaw’s state was somehow worse.  It wasn’t right - chronologically speaking. Buzzsaw had come out of this particular nightmare unscathed, and even here, he certainly wasn’t in any position to indicate otherwise.  There was no rubble pinning him down. No debris to crush him the way it was crushing Laserbeak. And yet, his visage was horrific - his head had been smashed in, not by a collapsed building, but by the hands of a bot.  Energon dribbled from the pressure-induced holes in his plating, painting the once-yellow bot in a sickly blue, and snaking its way into gaps in his plating, and onto the floor. His tiny motor churned and sputtered as it attempted to force its way around the liquids that were congealing within it, preventing it from functioning, and his wings were twitching weakly, involuntarily, tap-tapping against the ground in his broken agony.  It was exactly as Soundwave (and Laserbeak) had last seen him.

It was too much.  Again, Soundwave reached out to his Symbiont, only for his hand to pass right through.  Grim though the sight was, it was nothing more than Laserbeak’s twisted memory.

“̛H͢h҉̴e̕͟l͘͠pmi͘!҉ ̶Ḩ̛h̴̡͠e̵͜͏lpm̵į҉͢!̨͝!̶̕ ͜͝S͘’̵͜r͏ą̨e̸c͘s̶o̡͞eh̨͢sd͠!͝”  The cry seemed to be coming from Laserbeak, who no longer appeared to be pinned. His head, while not quite so prominent as it had been before the disaster, didn’t seem to be otherwise damaged.  He sat on the floor, staring at Soundwave expectantly.

_ “Operation: remain here.” _

Soundwave staggered backwards, away from Buzzsaw, away from Laserbeak, heedless of the imagined rubble at his back.  He hadn’t known what to expect from this venture into the bowels of Laserbeak’s mind, but he hadn’t been prepared to reface the most traumatic moments of his own past.

_ <<Soundwave.  Soundwave, are you alright.  I am pulling you back if you do not stand up in five seconds.>> _

Stand up?  Oh, he was on the ground now.  How odd. But horrified as he was, he wasn’t ready to go back yet.  There was still so much that needed to be done. Laserbeak’s mind was a dark place, but he’d yet to see anything that could account for the abnormal activity.  He had to press on. So, although it took every ounce of control he had, he stood up, and on trembling legs, stumbled backwards, beyond the intangible rubble of his old home, and into the outside world.

Once there, he nearly wished he’d stayed inside.  He recognized this place too. Ash and smoke that hung in the air, their memory clogging his vents and making him sputter.  Tall spires, once a brilliant white, now stained with dust and spilled energon stretched upwards towards the sky, though just as many lay in ruin, their remains strewn about the street, with more debris falling from above with each passing second.  And as a far as the eye could see were heaps upon heaps of dead bodies - faceless, per the limits of Laserbeak’s memory, but no less gruesome for it. This was the Battle of Iacon, the last battle before the Autobots and Decepticons took to space.

“͘A̴̸̢ gm͡ŗ͜i̧ ̨̕͟ģh̴̛s͢͝t͝i̷͞,͢ ̶įştn͏̨’ ͝i̢t̕҉?͡͏҉”͠

Soundwave jumped with a start as Laserbeak hovered above his shoulder, his garbled voice chirring into his audial.

_ “Operation: to me.” _

It seemed that Laserbeak had, at least, realized that Soundwave was here, though Soundwave somehow doubted that he knew much at all about his own situation, and with his language circuits so garbled, it would be impossible to do so.  Still, Soundwave wasn’t without hope. If Laserbeak had sensed anything at all wrong within his head, Soundwave would be able to figure it out. He just had to use the right words, or feelings in this case.

Using every ounce of determination within him, Soundwave reached out through their shared spark bond, pushing forth the sense that something wasn’t right, that something didn’t belong.  He begged Laserbeak to see it too, to find it, to show it to him. Much to his relief, Laserbeak seemed to understand; he took to the air, flying in an elliptical pattern as he pressed ahead, and Soundwave took off after him, shaking off the horrid memories the ruins of Iacon brought forth within him.

It would have been much easier to do if Laserbeak hadn’t manifested the worst of it right before his eyes.

Just as the last time he was on this particular battlefield, Soundwave found himself passing through the ruins of a once grand archway that marked the entrance to the Crystal City.  Off to the side of the debris-strewn road lay the remains of an old guard house, one that occupied a nightmarish place in Soundwave’s spark. He trembled as he passed by, trying his hardest to block out the images forcing their way to the front of his mind.  And then he tripped over one of them.

He oughtn’t to have - there was nothing really there, after all, and yet he unconsciously had tried to avoid the pitiful, rasping creature suddenly sprawled out across the pathway.  It was Ravage, just as Soundwave had last seen him. His body had been nearly bisected, held together by one narrow column of spine. His black plating was painted a vivid blue as energon seeped from the mortal wound, but he still stubbornly held on, his broken frame trembling and wheezing every so often under the effort.  Every fiber of Soundwave’s being wanted to reach out to him, to put him back together, to replace his missing fuel and ease his pain, but this  _ wasn’t real _ , and even if it had been, Soundwave’s help had inadvertently finished Ravage off the last time.

At Ravage’s side was Rumble, dead and greying, his frame crushed beyond recognition.  But Soundwave knew the identity of this mangled body all the same, and Laserbeak knew it too.  For whatever reason, Laserbeak had chosen to manifest each of his brothers as he’d last seen them.  Soundwave could only pray that he skipped over Frenzy; Laserbeak hadn’t been present for that death, and Soundwave wasn’t sure he could take seeing any more of his Minicons in such a state.

He disabled his optical sensors and stumbled onward, ignoring the carnage behind him, even as his body urged him to go back, to save the missing pieces of his spark.

“I̵͞t ̶h͟us͟r̵̕͡t̸ ̕d̨’͏͞o̸͞e͢͡s̷̡n͡t͘ ҉̡҉it̨͢͠?͝͡ ̵̢ U͜͝b̧҉͏ţ̢ ̶͠ybm̶͘͢a̡͞ę ̕o҉̛ư͝y ̢͘͠h̷̸o͡҉l͡su̡d̸͜ cfęa ̴҉i͡t̴̸.̛ ̴̢̕ ͟Y̶b͘m̧a҉҉e͏ ̶̡͢h̶̛i҉̨s͢t͢ m̨҉e҉̧t͞i̸͟,̸ ͏I͏҉ ̴̛n’w̷o͢t͢͝ ̶e͘mc̛҉o ͢͡c͜͠k̷͝b̨̢a̷͟ ͢͝e̸̡i͡e̸̢ŗ̵th̶.̕”

_ “Operation: upside down. _

Then the pain hit him.  It shouldn’t have; none of this was real, after all.  It was all fragments of Laserbeak’s broken mind, and thus, should have been incapable of affecting Soundwave’s physical body, which was also not present.  And yet, there was a searing agony tearing into his right shoulder. He knew what it was, and he didn’t want to look.

He looked anyway.

Frenzy, mercifully wasn’t quite so mangled as his brothers had been, most likely because Laserbeak hadn’t actually been around to witness his demise.  Instead, there was a red pauldron, which had manifested itself around Soundwave’s right shoulder, not actually touching him, but keeping pace with his movements nonetheless.  This was Frenzy as he looked when he connected with Soundwave so long ago, no horrific holes in his chassis, no spilled energon or pitiful sounds coughed out of a dying frame.  

The only indication that he was dead at all was the white hot agony that shot through Soundwave’s arm, straight to his spark.  Or perhaps it was the opposite - perhaps his spark was merely reflecting the pain that Laserbeak himself was in. He didn’t care to think about it right now.  He just wanted to get away - away from Frenzy, away from his dead Symbionts, away from the ghastly reminder of the war’s greatest casualties.

_ “Operation: Through the stairs.” _

<< _ Soundwave. _ >>

Optimus’s voice called out to him, pulled him back to reality, to a present where he’d journeyed to the center of Laserbeak’s mind, to prevent his last remaining Symbiont from meeting the same fate as all of the others.  Soundwave onlined his optics, and while the carnage of Iacon remained, his Symbionts were, mercifully, nowhere to be seen. Even the pain in his shoulder had dulled to a bad memory.

_ <<Soundwave, do you want to come back?>> _

He didn’t.  After all he’d suffered over his long and miserable life, he wasn’t about to be diverted from his quest to hold on to the one thing that brought him happiness - certainly not by a few nightmares.  And so, he pressed onward yet, trusting that Optimus would understand the meaning behind his actions.

Optimus didn’t ask again.

_ “Operation: infiltrate obfuscate obliviate.” _

The echoes of commands spoken in his own voice, however, did continue to sound, increasingly nonsensical at that.  Soundwave couldn’t help but wonder what their purpose was, and more importantly, whether or not he could convince Laserbeak to listen to his own commands.  It was worth a try, at least. Anything to escape this miserable situation.

“Laserbeak: operation: seek out happy memory.”

It worked; faster than Soundwave had expected, even.  No sooner had he uttered the command, then the world around him began to warp and sway, as the burnt out husks of crystalline towers warped to soot-stained stone, as the smoke and dust transformed to chemical grime, as the gruesome corpses transformed into the cheering faceless masses.  

Soundwave recognized this place too.  This was the Kaon Underground, where he’d spent so many of his formative years.  And Laserbeak had planted them smack in the middle of the coliseum, perhaps the happiest period of Soundwave’s life, all things considered.  It was worth noting, however, that if he was in the middle of the coliseum, then he was, by extension, in the middle of a battle. It wasn’t hard to guess who his opponent would be.  This was, after all, meant to be a happy memory.

Laserbeak had a strange definition of happiness.

The thundering of heavy footsteps on the stone floor drew Soundwave’s attention away from the roaring crowd, and Soundwave managed to dive out of the way just in time to avoid being plowed over by Megatron himself.

“Scared, Soundwave?” Megatron jeered, as he recovered his footing and raced in for the next blow.  The innocuous phrase pulled Soundwave back into his memories, back to a better time, a better place (not a good place, but still better).  This was his first meeting with Megatron - Megatronus, as he was called then. This was the precursor to his brief affair with the concept of a home, with hopes and dreams and goals to work towards, the catalyst towards Soundwave discovering what it felt like to truly be alive.  That brief period, from their first battle up until the moment that Optimus Prime - Orion Pax - had walked onto the scene had been the happiest days of Soundwave’s life.

This battle was a turning point in his life; he could even remember his answer to Megatron’s generic boasting.  [[ Scared; Megatronus? ]] Soundwave replied, turning the powerful mech’s words back on him with some help from the crowds.  There was little he could do to interrupt Megatron’s charge at such close quarters, however; he only just managed to block it.

The blow was a powerful one, no less than expected.  Although his heavily-reinforced arms had taken the brunt of its force, Soundwave’s light frame had still been sent flying halfway across the coliseum.  And that was when it hit him: Megatron had  _ hit _ him.  Memories may have been powerful, as Frenzy had proven before, but even the echo of his Symbiont’s horrific death had been a pain felt in his spark.  This, however, was physical . . . somehow.

Soundwave paused in his tracks, staring down the mech who now stood across from him, unmoving, save for the slow twist of his lips.  “Something the matter, Soundwave?”

This was real.  And Soundwave was not ready to face the reality of his long-beloved lord and master being alive and well within the mind of his one-remaining Symbiont.  He didn’t hesitate, didn’t give it a moment’s thought. Instead, he turned tail and fled, as fast as he could, away from that horrible, wonderful mech and everything he represented.  

“Soundwave, wait.”

And then he was no longer running.  Megatron’s voice always had held a surprising degree of influence over him.  

“I know this will be difficult for you to take in.  There is so much going on here - so much that even I don’t understand.  But please, give me a chance to explain. It’s what you came here for, isn’t it?  To know what’s going on?”

Soundwave couldn’t deny that.  Slowly, he turned again, facing Megatron, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet his eyes.

“It’s funny.  Forty thousand years later, I still can’t get this day out of my mind.  Maybe because it’s the day that everything changed? The day I went from just another unsatisfied gladiator, to a mech with a tangible future in my grasp.  The day my vision for the future became something I could and would fight for. The day I met you . . .”

It wasn’t surprising that Megatron felt much the same about this encounter as Soundwave, a fact that Megatron seemed to pick up on.  Soundwave didn’t even bother trying to escape as Megatron approached, took him by the hand, and lead him backwards, towards the center of the ring.

But it wasn’t the ring anymore.  There were walls now, on all sides - Megatron’s head nearly brushed the ceiling up above, they were so compact.  And there was a bed, which Megatron boldly sat upon, dragging Soundwave closer, to stand just shy of being pulled into his lap, an intimate moment despite their relative distance.  Soundwave remembered this night as well - the two of them alone in Megatron’s apartment - the night Megatron had let his walls come crumbling down and, for the first time, allowed Soundwave to share in his weaknesses and insecurities.  He’d come out of the encounter with a new name for it: Megatron.

“This was the future I was fighting for - my favorite memory.  Just the two of us, in some crappy little apartment, sharing our lives together, while your Symbionts listened to us like little conspirators in the next room.”  He laughed. “But there was nothing physical about that encounter. It was just you and me, more intimate than we’d ever before been . . . or ever would be again.”

Soundwave had heard this speech before, in some form or another, hundreds of times over the millennia.  As much as he loved Megatron, their relationship had been a bit rocky for the majority of the war. Megatron was a mech always in pursuit of greater things, to the point where he couldn’t ever acknowledge the things that were right in front of him.  Soundwave had been there from the beginning, a fact of which Megatron was well aware, and yet he’d chased after Optimus, and Starscream after him. He’d chased after bloodshed, and glory, and the absolute annihilation of his enemies. He’d chased after everyone and everything except for poor Soundwave, waiting faithfully for him to return through it all.

Admittedly, he was wise to the words by now.

But Megatron was dead, or at least, he’d  _ died _ .  Soundwave wasn’t sure what he counted as now.  Whatever the case, Soundwave’s world had been upended.  There had once been a time when he’d secretly longed for such an upheaval, wished that he could have had the strength to let go, but once it had actually happened, he was left cold, empty, hopeless.  Being brought back to this moment - the last genuinely happy moment they’d shared, no strings attached, was too much to bear.

Soundwave collapsed to his knees, planted at Megatron’s feet, still unwilling to look at the mech who had so long been the center of the universe.

_ I can’t do this without you. _

“So much happened after that day.  You lost Frenzy, and then, one-by-one, you lost the rest.  You lost me, too, in a way. Who would have thought that this night, with you and I alone in a tiny room in Kaon’s Underground was the last time we would truly be alone?”  Soundwave stiffened. He didn’t like the way this was going, but he didn’t care to stop Megatron either.

“Because after this night, Orion Pax walked on the scene and took away everything we’d built in one fell swoop.”

It wasn’t entirely fair to say such a thing.  Optimus had done nothing more than show up in Kaon, wanting to help the revolution, sweet-faced and doe-eyed and full of the sort of optimism that could never be found in the Underground.  Megatron was the one who’d let his relationship with Soundwave flicker out to pursue something newer and more appealing. The only one to blame for the forty thousand years of agony that followed was Megatron, and perhaps Soundwave himself.

And yet, he couldn’t help but take some sadistic glee in the knowledge that Optimus was still on the outside, listening in to this intimate conversation.  Soundwave wondered if Megatron was aware of the fact. 

_ What’s it matter? _

At last, he looked up from the floor to meet Megatron’s gaze.  It was an unsettling sight - his eyes were blue as the day they’d met, as opposed to the red he’d taken after the start of the war.  It was almost as though gazing into the eyes of a different bot, a bot he hadn’t seen in forty thousand years.

“Megatron: inquiry: status?”

It was a simple question, but to Soundwave, it meant so much more.  These were words -  _ his _ words.  He’d gone so long without talking; even if his vow had been broken that night in the cathedral with Optimus, he was still conservative with his words.  But this was Megatronus, the first and only mech to convince him to open up, to put in the effort, to try to speak as any other bot would. It was harder to use his tricks to get around speaking, when words came so naturally in his presence.

“My status?” Megatron smiled, a genuine expression at odds with the confused tilt of his head.  Megatronus it may have been, but the memory, or the ghost, or whatever this was, clearly belonged to Megatron.  “I’ve never been good at the detail-work, Soundwave, but you’re a smart bot. You tell me.”

Suddenly, Soundwave was flying - easily lifted from the ground at Megatron’s feet - and dragged across a solid, comfortable frame until he was sprawled out over Megatron’s chest.  He could remember this too. At the time he’d been too flustered to appreciate his closeness to the light of his world, but he’d come too far to make the same mistake again. Instead, he let his head fall limply on Megatron’s chest, taking in the steady pulse of a spark that should no longer have been beating.

_ How strange. _

“Observation: Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave: trine.  Conclusion: traces of Megatron’s spark exist within Starscream and Soundwave.  Observation: Soundwave, Laserbeak: share Symbiont-Carrier bond. Conclusion: Soundwave’s spark is likewise shared by Laserbeak.  Therefor: Laserbeak and Megatron are connected.

“Information: upon death, a spark gutters in all connected sparks.  However, speculation: Soundwave’s presence in Shadowzone at Megatron’s time of death prevented this phenomenon.  Result: Megatron’s spark lives on in Soundwave and Laserbeak.

“Speculation: upon rescue from Shadowzone, Megatron’s spark guttered in Soundwave, however, Laserbeak: status: stasis lock.  Speculation: Megatron lives on in Laserbeak so long as Laserbeak remains in stasis. Speculation: Megatron actively works to maintain survival.  Conclusion: if Laserbeak wakes, Lord Megatron perishes.”

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?” Megatron sighs, running his claws up and down Soundwave’s back, as if to remember it’s long-forgotten details.  “You’re probably right. Primus knows I have no idea what’s happening. All I know is that I’m here, I’m alive, and I’m close to you. Maybe that’s why I feel so . . . calm right now.”  He shuttered his optics, and his hands slowed. It was a moment of perfect tranquility. There was a point when Soundwave would have been content to lose himself in this moment forever.

But now was not then.  Megatron’s presence came at the cost of Laserbeak, Soundwave’s other reason for being; Laserbeak could not awaken so long as Megatron existed, and Megatron could not exist should Laserbeak wake up.  As much as he loved Lord Megatron, as much as he depended on the light he’d always provided to guide him, his words of wisdom, his remembered embraces, the fact remained that Megatron was dead and Laserbeak was not.  Laserbeak didn’t deserve this - he didn’t deserve to be a mindless shell for a more powerful personality, and he didn’t deserve to be trapped in an endless loop of his most traumatic memories.

It was so like Megatron to do what he wanted, consequences be damned.  He’d always been selfish, even at his most altruistic. There was no reason that the part of him that remained in Soundwave should be any different.

Soundwave lingered in Megatron’s embrace for one more treacherous moment, before pulling away, rolling from the bed and crawling back to his feet.

“Soundwave?”

“Megatron,” Soundwave replied, gazing at the last vestige of the mech who had once been his universe, committing every detail to memory.  It would, after all, be his last chance to do so. “Goodbye.”

“Soundwave, wait!  Don’t leave -”

Soundwave turned his back on Megatron and just like that, his voice was gone, cut off mid-sentence.  

_ “Laserbeak: return.” _

He hadn’t given the command, but Laserbeak’s memory of his disembodied voice was for once in agreement with him.  At once, Laserbeak flew down from the rafters, slotting himself into Soundwave’s chest, and for the first time since waking up in this hellish future, Soundwave felt the warm pulse of his Symbiont’s presence through his spark.   _ Everything is going to be okay. _

He’d done it!  Laserbeak would be fine.  He’d be awake and healthy and capable of protecting himself and providing Soundwave the comfort he desperately needed.  The mission was successful; all he needed to do now was disconnect. But even as he gave Optimus the command for Optimus to pull him back to reality, as he prepared to leave this nightmare behind, he couldn’t help but stave off a twinge of regret at how easy it had been to kill Megatron.

_ “Soundwave: operation: move on.” _

He didn’t know where the voice had come from, be it himself or Laserbeak’s interpretation of him, but he came to with those words lingering in his mind.  

_ Move on. _

The second reality solidified around him, he was back on his feet, ignoring the stunned expression on Optimus’s face, and the broken shivers coming from his frame.  There was only one thing on his mind.

It was all he could do not to run the short distance to the bed where Laserbeak laid, but he did manage enough self control to carefully unplug the cable that had connected him to Soundwave and remove his restraints afterwards.  Already, Soundwave could feel a difference, from the warm buzz of Laserbeak’s frame in his arms, to the soft shudder he gave at the movement. Laserbeak was back, and that was all that mattered.

Without any more time wasted, he slotted Laserbeak back into his chest, revelling in the small mech’s reawakened presence within him.  His frame was warm, bubbly, as though any moment now, he would shoot off into the air from glee alone. So elated was he, that it didn’t even occur to him that this was the first time he’d felt happiness in two years.

It didn’t matter.  Laserbeak was back.  For the moment, that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you want to know what was being said in the garbled bits:
> 
> 'Hahahahahah - you lose. You’re no match for me'  
> 'Yeah right, in your dreams, pal!'  
> 'Watch it!'  
> 'Guys, can you cut it out. The APARTMENT isn’t big enough for you to be fooling around in.'  
> 'Go outside before somebody gets HURT.'  
> 'It hurts! It hurts!'  
> 'Help him! Help him!! He’s so scared!'  
> 'A grim sight, isn’t it?'  
> 'It hurts doesn’t it? But maybe you should face it. Maybe this time, I won’t come back either.'


End file.
